


as it curves into light

by rui



Category: Hemlock Grove, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Lone Alpha Peter Rumancek (sorta), M/M, Masturbation, NSFW, Pack Dynamics, Subverting Pack Dynamics, Teen Wolf AU, Zen Werewolfing, do werewolves have politics? they do now, horny teenage boys feeling each other up all the time basically, lots of swears, sassmasters anonymous, trust issues for errybody
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 18:31:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 33,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1149377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rui/pseuds/rui
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if the events of <i>Hemlock Grove</i> more-or-less happened in the <i>Teen Wolf</i> universe instead? And what if, in the wake of those events, Peter Rumancek ended up in Beacon Hills just in time for season 3b(ish)? </p><p>This, basically. </p><p>Light on the psychological horror aspects of 3b, heavy on teenagers bein' teenagers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Isaac’s standing at his locker waiting for Scott to get to school when he smells it, and about five seconds after that a kid in a biker jacket and patched jeans leans up against the locker beside his. His hair looks like it hasn’t been combed since his last shower and he hasn’t shaved in even longer than Derek, his eyes are blue beneath long lashes and unkempt eyebrows, and he smells like leather and cigarettes and _alpha_. 

“Hey,” he says, and when Isaac startles in sudden realization, half of his mouth curves up in a smile that’s definitely wry but not actually unfriendly. “It’s cool, I come in peace.” His thumbs are hooked in the pockets of his jacket, beringed fingers relaxed against the leather. Everything about this kid seems relaxed, actually, from the slouch of his shoulders to the way he’s crossed one of his boots over the other in his lean against the locker. Unthreatened, unthreatening even as Isaac bristles beside him, a few inches taller and half again as broad. 

So this is the werewolf that had come to town. Deaton had warned Scott, a terse and uninformative phone call on Friday night that had resulted in a tense Scott all weekend, worried that Beacon Hills was about to be invaded again, that this was part of the supernatural influx they’d been warned about. It had been a pretty shitty weekend, as these things went, wandering around the woods at night trying to catch a scent, but they’d found hide nor hair of this new wolf. And here it is, Monday morning, and this new kid who is definitely a werewolf and doesn’t look cool enough to sit at even the uncool kids’ lunch table is standing next to Isaac’s locker. 

He really hates his life.

“What do you want?” Isaac finally says, exasperated, because it seems like if he doesn’t the kid is just going to stand there and watch him with that faintly amused expression that leaves Isaac unsure if he’s in on the joke or he is the joke.

“For you to tell your alpha that I’m not a Hale, I’m not Deucalion, and I’m not here to be a pain in his balls.” 

“And you’re telling me because…?”

The kid shrugs. “He’s a new alpha, yeah? I’m not looking for a fight, and he probably is.” 

Isaac can’t really deny the logic there. “And you’re telling _me_ because…?”

“Because it’s before homeroom, you took a shower this morning, and you still smell like him, that’s why.” The kid grins and clicks his tongue, raising his eyebrows for a moment before levering himself up away from the locker. “I’m Peter, by the way. See you around.” 

It turns out that Peter is in their first period class, which is slightly awkward in that Isaac only gets out half of his explanation before the kid walks into the room. He has to put a hand on Scott’s shoulder to keep him in his seat, and Peter only glances at them for the briefest of seconds, just long enough for a spark of eye contact that Isaac is somehow sure is meant for him and not Scott. He sits in the back of the classroom, keeps his eyes down and doesn’t ask or answer any questions. Scott glances back a few times, but Isaac doesn’t. There’s no need, he never feels eyes on his back. Somehow Peter manages to be one of the first people out the door when the bell rings, and as Scott makes a frustrated sound Isaac realizes that it’s entirely deliberate, that Peter is purposefully avoiding a confrontation. That he’s trusting Isaac to deliver his message, to know how to handle Scott. 

That’s when Isaac realizes that he’s suddenly playing go-between for someone who isn’t like any alpha he’s ever encountered before.

Third period is art, and when Isaac walks into the room he finds that Peter’s already there, having a conversation with Allison that he only catches the very tail end of. 

“--Rumancek. Nicolae Rumancek. Ask your dad.” 

“Yeah.” Allison sounds...strange, suspicious and intrigued all at once, and she answers Isaac’s _what the hell?_ expression with a _we’ll talk later_ sort of look as she passes by on her way to her seat by Lydia. It then occurs to Isaac that the only seat left is at the easel next to Peter’s, and he’s not sure whether or not he’s annoyed about that. 

He’s definitely annoyed at the small, easy smile that Peter offers him, at the way he looks so much less tense and wary than he did talking to Allison, like Isaac isn’t someone he needs to be afraid of. Vindictively, he makes Peter wait until class is well underway before he says anything. 

“He doesn’t believe you.” The words are a bare murmur, but that’s all they need to be. Peter’s been waiting for him to speak. “Why were you talking to Allison?”

Peter lets out an amused breath. “Because she’s an Argent. Same reason we dropped in on Deaton. Why doesn’t Scott believe me?” 

“Because you’re not the first alpha that’s shown up in Beacon Hills and everybody has an agenda. Who’s _we_?” 

“Me and my mother, who is all the pack that I want or need.” They’re supposed to be painting a still life that’s arranged in the center of the room, but Peter’s not. He’s made a ring in a pale wash of green over the majority of his paper, broad and topped with an oblong bump, and is in the process of adding little half-ovals in different shades of green. Isaac takes a moment to digest what Peter said, which seems very important but leaves him confused. 

“So what are you doing here?” 

Peter glances over. “Good question. We’ll find out, won’t we?” He goes back to his painting for a long moment before continuing. “There are other ways to do this besides the Hale School of Angry Lycanthropy.”

Isaac scoffs. “Yeah, and what, you’re some kinda guru? We’ve seen other alphas.”

“Me too,” he says, and Isaac doesn’t know how to answer that.

“Are you even really an alpha?” He feels tense sitting next to Peter because Peter’s _not_ tense, because there’s no obvious violence coiled up in him, just barely contained by a thin armor of control. It’s something of a surprise when he looks over and Peter’s looking back at him with eyes that glow bright red, enough that Isaac’s eyes flash gold before Peter takes a long, slow blink and opens normal human eyes. He gives a little shrug and turns back to his painting, and when Isaac turns his head he sees Allison and Lydia staring at him with wide eyes. Isaac shakes his head and slouches, trying to convey despite his own personal disquiet that things are fine. 

And they are fine, Isaac tells himself, because next to him Peter’s heart beats a serene rhythm and his breath is even and easy, nearly as calm and slow as sleep. Things are fine, except for how Isaac’s starting to wonder if everything they’ve ever learned about werewolves is just plain wrong.

“He wants to meet you. After school,” Isaac says belatedly, just after the bell. Peter nods. On his easel is a half-finished painting of a snake eating its own tail.

“Okay. See you then.” 

Actually, they have lunch and two more classes together before the end of the day, but all of them are with Scott. Allison seems as disquieted as Isaac is, and nobody else has much of anything to contribute besides some staring at the new kid eating lunch by himself under a tree, earbuds in and head bobbing to the music. Peter doesn’t look at Isaac and Isaac resolutely ignores both Peter and the fact that Scott can’t seem to ignore the other alpha. 

“I don’t _get_ it,” Scott says for the fifth time, and Stiles finally snaps at him that maybe there’s nothing _to_ get, and then what everyone else gets is gone before they get dragged into that argument. 

“What was he talking to you about?” Isaac asks Allison as they head back to their lockers. “Before art.” 

“Introducing himself, mostly. Which was really weird, yeah. Guess he heard my name during second period attendance. Anyway, he thinks my Dad met his grandfather once.” She frowns. “Which I guess he believes means something. Pretty sure that werewolves announcing themselves to hunters is kiiiiinda weird.” 

“Yeah well, he’s kinda weird.” Isaac’s voice comes out entirely deadpan, and Allison gives half a laugh. “I guess he and Scott are meeting after school.” That makes her wince a little. 

“I can’t stay,” she says, and there’s a distinct apology in her tone. “Text me if it looks like things are going to get out of hand?” 

“Yeah, sure,” Isaac says, and wonders when exactly it was that he became the responsible one.

There’s no lacrosse practice, so they meet out on the practice field. By the time Isaac, Scott and Stiles head out there, Peter’s already sitting on the bleachers, smoking.

“Wow,” Stiles says, “a werewolf smoking has to be one of the most pointless things I’ve ever seen.” Peter raises his eyebrows and salutes, tapping his temple with the two fingers he’s using to hold his cigarette. Then he puts it out against the side of the bleachers and tucks the butt away into an old mint tin instead of flicking it to the ground.

“Hello to you too,” he says, tucking the tin back into his bag. He doesn’t stand. “Peter Rumancek.” 

The silence goes on a beat too long before Scott steps forward. “Scott McCall. That’s Isaac, and that’s Stiles.” He points in their respective directions before extending his hand to shake, and Peter nods at both of them before taking it. Scott’s knuckles go white with the strength of his grip, and Peter looks at him in a way that manages to convey just how pointless he thinks that is, his own grip tightening in return and then releasing after the proper duration of a handshake. “I heard there was a new alpha in town.” 

“From Deaton, yeah. We stopped in to let him know. Seemed polite. His family’s been here a long time.”

“How do you know that?” Scott’s not sure whether to be wary or angry or openly confused, but the latter seems to be winning at the moment. 

Peter shrugs. “Grew up hearing stories about big names and places, I guess.” When nobody has much to say about that he leans forward a bit, sets his elbows on his knees. “What is it you want to know?”

“Why are you here? I’m not joining your pack,” Scott adds, because god knows the last thing they all need is someone else trying to ‘court’ him. 

“I’m not recruiting. Or looking to join up.” Peter tilts his head. “Pretty good with just me and my mom.” 

“Who bit you?” Isaac glances at Scott. That’s kind of a dumb question, which means Scott’s not really thinking very straight.

“Nobody. I was born, like your Hale friends.” He waves a hand before Scott can finish protesting that Derek and Peter really aren’t their _friends_. “Became an alpha when I was thirteen, when Nicolae died. Of _cancer_ ,” he adds, because the three boys in front of him are looking a little horrified. 

“So what’s with the whole zen wolf thing?” Stiles asks.

“What’s with the whole raged out wolf thing?” Peter asks in return, which isn’t actually an answer at all. “Nicolae never had that much truck with it. Ever heard the parable about the black wolf and the white wolf?” After receiving three head-shakes, Peter shrugs. “Some other time, then.” 

“You never answered the question,” Isaac says, and when Peter looks at him Isaac realizes that he hasn’t actually made eye contact with anyone else for the duration of this hideously awkward conversation. It only lasts a moment, though. “Why are you here.” He doesn’t phrase it as a question.

“Because for whatever reason, you lit this place up like a homing beacon for supernatural shit, I’ve got a cousin in town, and Lynda and I were looking for a reason to move on from where we were.” A beat. “Lynda,” he clarifies, “is my mom.” 

“There aren’t any other werewolves in Beacon Hills,” Scott says, and Peter nods in agreement.

“So what’s that tell you about my cousin?” he deadpans. “The long and short of it is that I don’t want into your pack, I’m not trying to get you into mine, and there’s a hell of a lot you don’t know about what you are and what you can be. Far as I can see, nobody’s bothered to tell you jack shit.” He stands up, picks up his bag. “If you want to know, I’m not a hard guy to find. If you don’t, that’s your deal. When shit hits the fan, I’ll be around, because you guys are gonna need all the help you can get.” As he passes, he hands Isaac a folded post-it note. “That’s my number.”

They watch him walk away. “What the hell was that?” Stiles mutters. Scott says nothing.

“Whelp,” Isaac says. “That went well.” He tucks the post-it into his pocket while Scott and Stiles theorize about what the hell just blew into town and whether Peter is just pretending to be an alpha somehow. “Oh,” he adds idly, “he is.” 

“And what, you’re suddenly an alpha expert?” Stiles looks around Scott to glare at Isaac. 

“Or I just saw his eyes,” Isaac deadpans in the same tone. “So did Allison and Lydia, ask them.” When Stiles pulls out his phone and sends a text, Isaac rolls his eyes and walks a few steps faster back toward the parking lot. He’s almost to his bike when he hears the beep of an incoming text and Stiles’ corresponding “Oh.” 

This is going to be a fun week, he can just tell.


	2. Chapter 2

“So,” Allison says when they sit down at lunch the next day, “Lydia and I did some research.” When Isaac glances over, Peter’s sitting under the same tree, listening to his music again, utterly ignoring the fact that there are people talking about him ten yards away. “And I talked to Dad. I guess he did meet Peter’s grandfather once, but he was just a kid.”

“And in actually relevant news,” Lydia picks up, “the Rumancek family goes way back. Way, way back, as far as we can tell. It’s hard to tell when you’re talking about Roma, they don’t really do censuses.” She rolls her eyes at Scott and Isaac’s blank looks. “ _Gypsies_ , they’re gypsies. From Romania, probably. Anyway, the important part is that in their culture, murder is serious business. The people you travel with are your family, and if you kill one of them, then pretty much you get abandoned out in the wilderness and nobody else will probably take you in. And there were, if Allison’s books are right--”

“Allison’s books are right.” 

“--like I was saying, there were probably whole traveling companies of werewolves. So they learned to control it, because nobody wants to be abandoned in the Romanian wilderness.” 

“So you’re saying he’s legit,” Stiles says.

“I’m saying research indicates that he’s probably not completely full of crap,” says Lydia. “But it’s pretty fuzzy on whether that kinda makes them different werewolves entirely or not.”

“So maybe he’s legit and maybe he’s just a different species.” Stiles sounds thoroughly incredulous, and Isaac’s not sure how to feel about kind of agreeing with him.

“Would you believe they weren’t having nature versus nurture debates when the Argent bestiary was written?” Lydia presses her lips together, unamused. 

“ _Either way_ ,” Allison cuts in before Stiles can reply, “according to my dad, Nicolae--that’s Peter’s grandfather--was an immigrant and basically a total hippie, and his family had a rule that they didn’t turn anyone. No biting at all, ever.”

“Keeping it in the family,” Isaac murmurs.

“Pretty much. Big family, though.” She pauses, looks over at Peter, who is chewing on a sandwich and reading a comic book, seemingly oblivious to the eyes on him. “The Argent code might exist because of people like them.” 

“Doesn’t exactly explain what he’s doing in Beacon Hills,” Scott points out, and Allison gives a little shrug. 

“Gypsies,” she says. Isaac wonders if it doesn’t have more to do with how completely they seem to be fucking everything up, but he keeps his mouth shut.

**

It’s Wednesday before Isaac talks to Peter again. Not that they don’t see each other, but Peter only seems to acknowledge Isaac when Scott isn’t around, and as far as Isaac can tell he never acknowledges Scott at all. But Scott doesn’t take Art, and Peter’s eyes flick up for a moment when Isaac walks through the door in Allison’s wake. He’s taken the same seat again, and a moment later the teacher announces that they all _must_ sit in the same places, since they’re continuing the still life from the last class. It’s a convenient excuse for Isaac to slide onto the stool beside Peter’s, and Peter gives him the same little smile he had on Monday. He’s painting his weird snake again, seemingly content to just keep adding scales until Isaac breaks the silence. In a manner of speaking, anyway, since his voice is a bare murmur that no one but Peter will hear.

“So the latest theory is that you’re just a different kind of werewolf than the rest of us.” 

That makes Peter let out an amused breath. “Pretty sure evolution doesn’t work like that. Definitely raised different, though.” He pauses. “Raised at all.” 

It’s Isaac’s turn to snort. “Yeah, you could say we missed Werewolf 101.” 

“Wouldn’t have learned my way anyway. The Hales have different ideas.” He shrugs. “Embrace the beast, restrain the beast, that kind of thing, right?” There’s no judgment in his tone. 

“Something like that, I guess. Why, what’s your deal?” Isaac’s eyes cut to the side, but Peter’s looking at his easel, not at Isaac. 

“My deal is that there is no beast.” Isaac scoffs, because that is just _incredibly stupid_ but when he looks over again Peter’s looking back at him, and there’s no joke in his expression. “No, really. You chain up and starve a dog, beat it into submission, no shit it’s going to attack anything it can when it escapes. Feed and train it, let it run, and it’s your companion.” 

“Sounds like bullshit to me.” Isaac shrugs and turns back to his painting.

“Spending your whole life fighting half of yourself sounds pretty bullshit to me, but different strokes, right?” 

Isaac’s shoulders stiffen, and he goes still as the anger rises up in him. But he clamps down on it, listens to Peter’s heartbeat, slow and even. The other wolf wasn’t even trying to bait him, wasn’t being sarcastic. Somehow Peter actually believes it, really believes that people can run their lives in a way he disagrees with. Isaac has no idea what to do with that.

“You’re really weird, man,” he murmurs. “Really goddamn weird.” He can’t decide whether it’s relaxing or unsettling, being near Peter. On one hand, it’s kind of nice to be around someone who isn’t seething with something all the time. On the other hand, Isaac’s learned the hard way that kindness is mostly a way to get someone to let their guard down, that he need be no less wary in the face of gentleness than in the face of violence. 

“You aren’t the first to say it,” Peter answers, chuckling, “and you won’t be the last.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Well.” Peter looks over at him and smiles, crooked with a flash of white teeth, and it feels like a reward for a job well done, a shot of warmth in his chest that makes him look away and not turn back toward Peter for the rest of the period.

After class, Isaac ducks into the bathroom, closes himself into a stall. He debates long and hard before pulling the wrinkled post-it from his jacket pocket, the seam of it gone weak from folding and refolding, and putting Peter’s number into his phone.

**

Scott’s sprawled on his bed and Isaac is sitting curled up against it on the floor while they make a go at trying to figure out what the hell is going on in Chemistry when Scott slams his book closed with a huff. Isaac, who was tired of trying to balance chemical equations a full forty-five minutes previous, closes his more quietly and gratefully as the mattress shifts against his shoulderblades when Scott flops over. Isaac turns around to find Scott’s elbow nearly in his face, and he can’t help but quirk an eyebrow as Scott heaves a quiet sigh. 

“Man, I still don’t know what to do.” 

“About?” Isaac can think of like three things off the top of his head that they probably need to do something about, and several more that relate to Scott’s personal life, since Kira sits at the lab table next to Scott’s and anybody with eyes could see where _that_ was going. 

“About the new kid.” Scott turns to look at Isaac. “Peter Ru-whatever.” 

“Oh. Rumancek,” Isaac provides, before realizing that might’ve been a mistake. “Think that’s what Lydia said,” he tacks on, quick and lame to his own ears.

“Yeah, that.” Luckily, either Scott doesn’t care or he’s distracted. “The last thing any of us needs is another Alpha Pack thing.” 

“Yeah.” Isaac’s quiet for a moment, watching Scott with wary eyes. “He’s...kinda not that bad, though.”

The silence stretches just long enough that Isaac wants to fidget, and Scott rolls onto his side to look at him. “What do you mean?” 

“All the stuff Lydia and Allison found, for one thing. And--” he hesitates again, covers it by swallowing. “I’ve talked to him a bit.”

“Have you.” Isaac hates that aggressively neutral voice that’s Scott’s adopted recently. He never knows which way a conversation is going to go anymore.

“Yeah. Got stuck next to him in Art, so I asked him about the thing Lydia said, whether he’s some different breed of werewolf or whatever.” Scott’s watching him intently now, but he’s actually _listening_ , so Isaac presses on. “He said he’s not, that his family just believes different stuff than people like Derek’s family. Basically what Allison and Lydia said.” Scott’s looking really intent now, and Isaac drops his eyes just to get a few seconds of relief from it. “Anyway, he said something about dogs, right? Like if you beat a dog and keep it in a cage, it’ll be angry and attack, but if you’re good to it, then it won’t. Not that he...explained how or anything.” That makes Scott huff out a little half-laugh. 

“So you actually believe this stuff?” 

Isaac’s not sure what answer Scott’s looking for. “You heard his heartbeat too, he wasn’t lying.” That seems safe enough, because Scott rolls onto his back again, tucking a hand under his head and staring up at the ceiling. “And he can’t be worse than Peter Hale, or Deucalion, or the twins.” Who Scott’s tied their loyalty to at one point or another in different ways.

“Yeah. Well, maybe.” Scott huffs another sigh. “Maybe I should talk to Deaton.” 

“Maybe you should talk to Peter,” Isaac says, “and decide for yourself.” 

“Huh,” says Scott, because Isaac has a point. Isaac decides to leave him with it, gathering up his books and heading for the guest room.


	3. Chapter 3

The next week, Mr. Yukimura comes into class with the sort of smile on that bodes really poorly for the immediate academic future. It’s a smile that means _assigned pair-work_ , a whole report and presentation. There are collective groans from everywhere, only slightly mitigated by the fact that they can choose their own pairs. Isaac glances over at Scott, but he’s already turning around and smiling at Kira. There’s Stiles, who is also looking slightly betrayed by Scott’s decision to work with the cute girl instead of him, if Isaac wants to feel like shooting himself in the face. Isaac sighs and thunks his head on the desk, and then there’s a tap on his shoulder. He knows who it is before he even looks up. 

“Hey,” Peter says. “I wasn’t even listening. What’s the project?” 

“Sit,” Isaac says, pointing at the desk next to his, and Peter sits. “Partner.” 

Peter looks away, but Isaac’s pretty sure he smiles.

“So,” Peter says, right before the bell rings, “you wanna work on this at mine? We’re kinda still staying with my cousin, but she’s got a computer.” 

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Isaac’s not really a hundred percent on going over to wherever Peter lives, but they sure can’t go to the McCalls’ house. 

“Cool. I’ll meet you by your locker. It’s not too much of a walk.” As soon as the bell rings he practically vanishes, slipping out of the room before Isaac’s even got his books back in his bag. 

As it turns out, it’s really not much of a walk to Peter’s cousin’s place, which ends up being an apartment above a little storefront on a street of little storefronts. There’s a neon sign in the window advertising palm and tarot readings, the kind of thing that Isaac’s eyes have passed over a hundred times without really seeing, because who believes in that crap? Peter’s cousin, apparently, since even though the sign on the door is flipped to ‘Closed’ he pulls out a key and opens it anyway. There’s the tinkle of a bell as he pulls it open and gestures for Isaac to go in. Inside, there’s a stereotypical table and crystal ball setup in the middle of a room draped in jewel-colored velvets and gauzes, but Peter leads him right past that and up a set of stairs mostly obscured by a bead curtain. There’s another door at the top, but that one is unlocked and Peter just pushes it open. “Hey, Dee, I’m home.” 

“One sec.” 

“With company.”

“Two seconds.” The woman that comes out of the bedroom is obviously related to Peter; they have the same nose. But that’s where the similarities end. She’s wearing a t-shirt obviously bought from the kids’ section of a big-box store with a pair of short-shorts that show off the fact that she definitely spends time at the gym, and she’s still in process of drying off long, damp hair with a bath towel. Peter tosses his bag onto the couch as she beelines over and kisses his cheek, which he tolerates in the sort of way that indicates he doesn’t actually mind. “How was school, sweetie? And who’s this?” She stops in front of Isaac, head tilted and looking up at him expectantly. She is, in a word, really, really hot.

“That’s Isaac. Isaac, this is Destiny.” 

“Hi.” Isaac gives a little wave because that seems like the thing to do, except Destiny grabs his hand right out of the air and turns it toward herself, palm up, and stares at it. Just as Isaac stops being stunned long enough to pull his hand away, she gives a little _huh_ and releases it anyway. Isaac glances over at Peter, but Peter is already heading for the kitchen.

“Anything to eat, Dee?” He opens the refrigerator and sticks his head in, then turns and waves Isaac over, and Isaac feels like he’s kind of stepped into the twilight zone.

“Same crap there was this morning. Lynda’s out shopping.” 

Peter sighs and looks at Isaac. “You hungry?”

“Um.” Isaac looks at Peter like that might be a trick question. “Kinda?” 

As it turns out, Peter makes a pretty good PB&J, with toasted bread and melted peanut butter on both sides and strawberry preserves in the middle, and they eat those on the couch while Destiny sits on the back of it, leaning over Peter’s shoulder to look at their assignment. Peter seems completely oblivious to the fact that there’s a really hot girl leaning over him who is definitely not wearing a bra, but Isaac guesses it’s different if it’s your cousin. He is not, however, entirely oblivious to Isaac’s level of distraction. 

“Dee,” he says. “Hovering.” 

“But Peter,” she pokes him in the arm, “you never bring friends home.” 

“ _Destiny._ ” Peter looks every inch the annoyed younger brother.

She folds her arms and pouts. “Fine. Lynda’s gonna be back soon anyway.” Peter says something obviously sarcastic in a language Isaac doesn’t even catch, much less begin to understand, as Destiny stands up, and she shoots something back over her shoulder, laughing, as she heads back into her bedroom and closes the door. Peter rolls his eyes. 

“Um,” Isaac says, glancing back and forth between Peter and the bedroom door. “You’ve been here like a week.”

“Talk to the lady, man.” Peter shakes his head, but there’s nothing to it beyond mild annoyance. “Destiny’s a people person.”

“And you are?” Isaac cocks an eyebrow.

Peter waits a beat. “A lone wolf,” he says, waggling his eyebrows. “Awooo.” 

It’s so stupid that Isaac can’t help but laugh, and then Peter laughs, a for-real, genuine sort of laugh involving a grin that turns him into a goofy puppy, and it only makes Isaac laugh harder, until he can’t remember when it was he last laughed that much. “Right,” says Peter, once they’ve both quieted, “let’s figure out this project bullshit.” 

They’ve just decided on a topic when the bell on the door rings downstairs and Peter looks up. “That’ll be Lynda,” he says, and stands up just as Destiny calls through her door that Peter had best get his ass downstairs to help his mother. “Women,” he says with a shrug, and clatters barefoot down the stairs. He returns a few minutes later in the wake of a woman that Isaac would have known is Peter’s mother even if she didn’t smell quite obviously like werewolf. Before Peter has a chance to put all of his groceries down she drops her bags on the kitchen island and sits down on the sofa. “Lynda--” Peter says, but she blithely ignores him. 

“So you must be Isaac.” She smiles. Her hair is lighter that Peter’s, but it has the same fine, easily tangled texture, and it’s pretty clear that the nose is a definite Rumancek thing. She wears even more rings than Peter on hands that have obviously seen plenty of work. “You can call me Lynda, Peter does. He’s mentioned you.” 

“He...has?” Isaac glances at Peter, a clear plea for help.

“Of course! We’re up to date with the whole pack situation. He said you’ve been a big help.” Lynda practically beams at him, and Isaac is absolutely sure he’s in the twilight zone.

“ _Mom_.” Peter comes out of the kitchen wearing a scowl that Isaac is rapidly learning is utterly venomless, for all that the women in his life pay attention to it.

“Well, you did, honeybunch.” Lynda slaps her thighs and then stands up, vacating the couch so Peter can sit. “Is Isaac staying for dinner?” 

Peter flops down on the couch with two cans of soda, hands one to Isaac. Lynda pets his hair before heading into the kitchen. “I donno,” he says, rolling his mussed head against the back of the sofa until he’s looking at Isaac, “is Isaac staying for dinner?” Isaac stares at him, opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. “Isaac’s staying for dinner,” Peter calls over the back of the couch. “What’re we having?” 

**

Dinner with the Rumanceks isn’t anything like dinner with the McCalls. For one thing, the Rumancek women can _talk_ , and somehow they manage to eat and chatter through the meal at the same time. Peter answers the questions asked of him and adds detail to a story here or there, but he’s content to let the others do the majority of the talking. 

At first, Isaac feels hideously awkward, like he’s on some kind of terrible date where he has to get all the answers right except for how there won’t be any kissing at the end, but by the time Lynda brings out peanut butter cookies for dessert, Isaac finds himself talking too. More specifically, he finds himself recounting, with a great deal of hesitancy and some gentle questioning, a brief history of the Beacon Hills pack. Nobody even blinks when he glosses over huge swathes of time, mentions names and then stops mentioning them without explanation. About halfway through, it occurs to Isaac that he doesn’t really know why he’s talking, that maybe he shouldn’t be telling them this. But then, when has anyone ever asked him? It hasn’t even occurred to anyone to ask, much less to listen. When he finally gets to “And then you showed up,” Lynda reaches across the table and squeezes his hand. 

“You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?” Isaac’s eyes cut down to the table, and Peter makes a soft sound that he can’t quite define. “All of you,” she amends. “And most of you just babies, with nobody to teach you.”

“That offer’s on the table,” Peter says, and Isaac nods quick agreement.

“Yeah. Scott’s still deciding.” 

“Well,” Lynda squeezes Isaac’s hand again before letting it go, “our door is always open to any of you, right, pumpkin?”

“Shouldn’t you be asking Dee?” Peter deadpans. “It’s her door.” Destiny smacks Peter lightly upside the head, and he gives another one of those theatrical scowls. 

“I think that’s enough for tonight, don’t you?” Destiny says brightly, clapping her hands. “Thanks for dinner, Lynda.” 

“My pleasure.” Lynda beams, obviously pleased. “Do you need a ride home, Isaac? Peter, you can take the car.” 

“Okay. Thanks for dinner.” He pushes back his chair and stands, grabbing Isaac’s plate before taking his own to the sink. 

“Thanks,” Isaac echoes, standing and following Peter into the kitchen. “Uh, you don’t have to drive me home. I can walk.” 

“It’s cool. I don’t mind. C’mon, we have to escape before they start talking again.” 

The car is old and beat up, smells like old cigarette smoke and herbs. There’s an empty box on the passenger seat and Peter tosses it into the back so Isaac can get in. 

“Why do you guys smoke?” he asks, wrinkling his nose a little. “Not like it actually does anything for you.” 

Peter shrugs. “Not like it’s gonna give me cancer, either.” He starts the car. “Some people smoke for the nicotine, but the hard part to kick isn’t that. It’s the ritual of the thing, the breathing fire and something to do with your hands. They’re important, rituals.” 

Isaac considers that for most of the drive home, until Peter asks him for directions to get the rest of the way. He can’t tell whether Peter really doesn’t know or if he’s just being polite, but either way he stops in front of the McCall house, puts the car in park but doesn’t turn it off. 

“You want to come over again tomorrow?” Peter takes the cigarettes from his coat pocket, taps the box against his palm three times and then lets it rest against the steering wheel. “We should probably...work.” 

“Maybe,” Isaac says, answering both question and statement. “Is Destiny gonna be there?”

“Destiny lives there,” Peter reminds him, “and you are not gonna score with my cousin.” But there’s something like a smile playing around his mouth. 

“You never know,” Isaac says with a cocky grin, opening the car door. “See you tomorrow.” 

“Yep.” As Isaac shuts the car door, Peter lights a cigarette, gives him a little salute with it, and drives off. 

**

Peter walks back into the apartment to find Lynda and Destiny on the couch, and they both turn to him with identically intent expressions. 

“Nope,” he says, “nobody’s saying anything until I get a beer.” So nobody does, not until he comes and sits down between them on the couch. Destiny rubs his shoulder.

“Peter, he’s precious! What a cute little baby werewolf.” Peter rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah, he’s got the hots for you.”

“Doesn’t everybody?” She sounds pleased about it. 

“There are some exceptions.” He wags his bottle in her general direction. “What’d you see in his palm?” The question washes away her grin. 

“Lots of bad. A lot of bad, Peter. And a decision coming that will either make things better or a hell of a lot worse.” She curls her feet up beneath her and looks at him, grave. “He needs a family, and you know it.” 

“He has a pack, Dee.” 

“Run by another baby who doesn’t know how to be an alpha. And I’m not talking pack, Peter. Family.” 

“Oh so _now_ you draw a distinction.” Peter takes a swig of his beer, and Destiny nudges his thigh with her bare toes. “Seriously, Dee.”

“Seriously, Peter.” She nudges him again. “And you need a friend.” He glares. “You _do_.”

“That went so well last time.” This time it’s Lynda who lightly cuffs Peter upside the head.

“You aren’t half old enough to sound that bitter, son of mine. You live and you learn and you live some more. And you like that boy, I can tell. You do.” His mother pulls him sideways with an arm around him, and he leans his head onto her shoulder with a sigh. “It’s okay to move on, sweet boy. It’s okay to try again.” 

“Glad somebody’s sure about that.” He sighs. “Fine, you think he belongs in the family, you seduce him into the family.” Destiny laughs and claps her hands. “ _Not like that, Dee._ ” 

“You never know, it might work!” 

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” 

“Such a spoilsport.”

“Always.” 

Destiny tucks a lock of hair behind Peter’s ear and smiles sadly. “You’re growing up, little man.” 

“Guess so.” Lynda pats his hair.


	4. Chapter 4

Isaac tells Peter that he’s not going to come over, but then it ends up that Scott bails on him to go to Kira’s, so Isaac ends up sticking his head into Destiny’s little shop, which is actually open. She’s with a client, and just gives Isaac a look that is about two seconds too long and possibly translates into something like _Peter said you weren’t going to come and here you are, which I believe is significant in ways that I’m sure as hell not sharing with you_ before she waves him upstairs.

Peter’s lying on the couch with a beer jammed between his thigh and the back of the couch, their English reading assignment held up over his head. “Oh,” he says, “thought you weren’t coming.”

“Change of plans.” Isaac tosses his bag down by the couch and gives Peter’s feet a significant look. He sits up with a groan. “Beer, really?” 

“Would you believe I like the taste?” Peter sets said beer on the coffee table and dog-ears his page despite the fact that the book is definitely school property. 

“No,” Isaac says, and Peter laughs. 

“You want one?” He swirls the bottle invitingly. It’s mostly empty, and Isaac can see the foam crest up the side beneath the brown glass.

“Uh.” Then he shrugs. “Sure. Not like it makes any difference.” 

“That’s the spirit.” Peter stands, finishing his drink as he walks into the kitchen and returning with two fresh bottles.

“Has anyone pointed out that you’re like, sixteen?” 

“Seventeen.” 

“Which is totally nothing like twenty-one,” Isaac points out, and Peter clinks the base of his bottle against Isaac’s. 

“Look at all these fucks I give,” he says with an expansive shrug and a grin before he takes a swig of his drink. “Anyway, if you want to work, we should, because Dee’ll be up in a bit and then Lynda will get home and insist on feeding us.”

“What a tragedy,” Isaac deadpans, and Peter makes an amused sound as he pulls his bag onto the couch to dig out his history stuff. 

They make some legitimate progress before Destiny comes upstairs. She apparently has a whole costume thing going, all flowy fabrics and a belt of little bells around her hips, every inch a bohemian ‘gypsy’ stereotype. Isaac stops what he’s doing and blatantly stares, and she does a little shimmy that makes her skirt swish and the bells chime. Isaac makes a choking sound and Peter snorts and doesn’t bother to look up. 

“Good day, Dee?”

“Excellent day.” She sways past them on her way to the bedroom, grinning over her shoulder as Isaac tracks her across the room. 

Peter nudges him with his elbow. “Don’t drool on the textbook.” 

“Shut up.” He’s not sure whether he’s relieved or disappointed when Destiny reemerges in another little t-shirt--this one with a superhero logo stretched across her chest--and a different pair of tiny shorts and sits down on the couch next to Peter.

“What’cha doin?” She steals his beer and takes a drink. 

“Homework?” Peter gives her an eye, but doesn’t try to reclaim his bottle. 

“Corrupting the youth,” Destiny corrects, pointing at Isaac’s beer with Peter’s. 

“The youth can’t get drunk, it’s not really corrupting.” 

“Yeah, well, you aren’t teaching him to smoke in my house.” She pokes him in the side of the head and hands back his beer as she stands and heads for the kitchen. 

“Um?” Isaac calls after her.

“So on the fire escape then?” Peter asks, leaning his head over the back of the couch. Destiny just laughs.

“There’s a fire escape?” Isaac asks, because that is definitely the most relevant part of the conversation. 

“Yep. Out my bedroom window.” 

“Let’s see this.” Peter raises an eyebrow at Isaac, but he grabs his cigarettes and beer and stands up, heading down the hall without waiting to see if Isaac’s coming. He is, obviously, barely having time to take in Peter’s room before watching curiously as the other boy opens the window wide and climbs out. “C’mon.” 

The fire escape is all metal grating, and there are a few battered outdoor-furniture cushions to sit on. Peter takes one and pushes another toward Isaac, who arranges himself on it, elbow resting on the windowsill. He watches Peter light a cigarette. 

“Don’t tell me you were serious,” Isaac asks, and Peter snorts.

“I’ll teach you if you want to learn, but I lit this one for me.” 

“Teach? What’s there to learn?” The fact that Isaac’s scoffing makes Peter smile should probably be a warning, but it’s not, and when Peter offers him the cigarette Isaac takes a deep drag and ends up coughing hard enough that he doesn’t notice when Peter, laughing, takes the thing out of his hand. Once he’s gotten his lungs back under control he gives Peter a reproachful glare. “You inhale that shit on purpose?” 

“There’s a method to the madness, and that was just a rite of passage, right there. Everybody does it.” He takes a sip of his beer, which is actually more of a prompt to remind Isaac that he has something to drink than anything else. “Do you wanna learn?” 

Isaac glares at Peter, and then at the cigarette. Like hell he’s going to be defeated by some dried plant leaves rolled in paper. “Yeah, okay.” 

Three cigarettes and an hour later, Isaac figures that he’s got a handle on this smoking thing, although he also stops in the bathroom on his way back to the living room and brushes the taste out of his mouth. As he brushes, he resolutely does not think about the incredible lecture he’d get from Scott’s mom if she found out or the fact that he’s borrowing Peter’s toothbrush because he’s too embarrassed to ask if Destiny has a spare. Peter sits on the couch and doesn’t think about that very same thing, at least the toothbrush part. It’s a bit easier from him, since Destiny is, in general, always some kind of distracting or another. 

“You _are_ corrupting the youth,” she teases as she switches his empty beer bottle for a can of soda. Peter pops the tab and shrugs.

“The youth needs a little corrupting,” he says. “This kind, anyway. Better than the other kind. Doesn’t hurt anybody.” 

“Uh huh,” she says. Peter idly swats in her direction, and misses. “Isaac, honey,” she adds, when he emerges from the bathroom, “what do you want for dinner?”

“How come he gets a say?” Peter grumbles. Destiny swats in his direction, and doesn’t miss.

**

The next time Isaac comes over, Peter’s not on the couch like usual. In fact, he’s not anywhere in the apartment at all. Instead, Destiny is on the couch, eating carrot sticks and watching trashy afternoon TV. 

“Hey, sweetie. Peter’s out with Lynda, he’ll be back in a bit. C’mon, sit down.” So Isaac shrugs and does, carefully leaving an appropriate amount of space on the couch between them. Destiny doesn’t seem to notice, possibly because she’s too busy asking Isaac about his day. It is, he’s found, really difficult to dodge her questions, either because she’s abnormally easy to talk to or because it’s really easy to let his mouth run while he looks at her. Possibly, he reflects, it’s both. Destiny always seems to pay the fullest attention to whoever is speaking, attentive in a way that’s rather novel to Isaac, even when he’s just bitching about how hard French is this year.

“So where’s Peter?” he asks, finally, when it becomes clear that wherever he’s gone, he’s not returning immediately. 

“Oh, he went with Lynda to see Deaton.” She waves her hand as though this isn’t anything particularly important. 

“Why?”

Destiny is pretty much the only adult that Isaac’s ever encountered who never seems to mind that question. “Probably because Beacon Hills has 99 problems and thirty of them are that they don’t use their resources well.” She smiles at him, a little rueful. “Werewolf politics aren’t any less stupid than regular politics, which is why mostly we stay the hell out of both.” 

“So why now? What’s so special about this? Can I get some water?” 

“Of course. One for me too while you’re up, please.” She waves him in the direction of the kitchen. “What’s special about this? Argents, Hales, a true alpha and invoking ancient rituals and you’re asking me what’s special about this? Really, sweetie.”

“Yeah, and what’s _Peter_ going to do about any of that?” Isaac doesn’t see how adding one more alpha to the mix is going to make a single bit of difference, weird werewolf philosophy or not. He returns with two glasses of ice water, perspiration already beading on the sides. Destiny looks at him for a moment before she takes her glass, gaze penetrating, and then she smiles.

“Thanks. And that’s up to Peter, isn’t it? And you guys. He’s not exactly the heroic type.” 

“He’s not exactly the fighting type at all,” Isaac says, and Destiny doesn’t answer. “Anyway, I don’t see what he can really do if Scott doesn’t want his help. He’s an okay guy and all, but...” Isaac looks down at the glass in his hand. “I’m not looking for a new alpha.”

“Trust me, Isaac, the last thing that Peter wants is to be anybody else’s alpha.” Destiny leans forward, surprisingly sincere. “He’s good with what he has.”

“What, Lynda? But--”

Destiny puts a hand on his arm. “Not everybody wants to build an army, baby. Not everybody wants to fight a war. Peter would be happy never raising a hand to anybody in his whole life, but we can’t always get what we want, can we.” Isaac can’t think of anything much to say to that. It’s too far from how he’s used to thinking, too divorced from strength and safety in numbers, from Derek’s crazy bid for power that ended him in the middle of all of this in the first place. “Anyway, until they come back, I thought we could try something.” She shifts, turning on the couch so that she’s facing him with her legs tucked up. 

“Okay…” Destiny chucks him lightly under the chin and Isaac realizes that his eyes must be wandering a little too obviously.

“Focus, pup,” she says, grinning, and Isaac can feel his ears begin to burn. “The moon will be full in a week, so I thought it might be a good idea to get you started on some meditation basics.”

It takes everything in Isaac not to groan. “Seriously?”

“I’m always serious.” That is the purest of bullshits, but it makes Isaac smile. “Serious about this, anyway. Helps a lot with control, and nobody’s going to be surprised if your friend has a bit of a rough time. If you get it down, you can help him.” 

While neatly excluding Peter from the equation entirely. Maybe. “Did Peter put you up to this?” 

Destiny laughs. “Sweetie, I’m an emissary. Who do you think got _him_ through it?”

Somehow it hadn’t quite clicked, what Destiny’s role in Peter’s life really was. “Oh.”

“Yep, oh. Put your water down, get comfy, and close your eyes.” 

Isaac is deep enough into it that he doesn’t hear Peter and Lynda come up the stairs, doesn’t realize that they’re back until he can smell cigarette and leather and Peter strong and sharp, not the washed-out scent left by a person living someplace. He opens his eyes and catches an odd expression on the other werewolf’s face, which flits away the minute Peter realizes he’s being watched, replaced with a bit of a smile. 

“Sorry ‘bout that. Wanna get to work?” 

Isaac stretches and stands. It’s weird to feel so calm, like his mind is floating in that liminal state that lasts just a few seconds after waking up from a really good nap, when everything is warm and comfortable. Peter doesn’t rush him, though, takes his time untying his boots and grabbing drinks from the refrigerator before heading back to his room.

“You went to see Deaton?” Isaac asks once he’s flopped comfortably onto Peter’s bed. He’s got the foot and Peter’s up at the head, books and notebooks between them and unopened. It’s obviously a guest bedroom, slightly feminine but without a great deal of personality on the whole, and there’s not much in it that marks it obviously Peter’s besides some textbooks and a basket of dirty laundry sitting in a corner beside a propped up guitar case. 

“Yep. Needed to fill in some blanks, and he’s the guy to talk to for that.” Peter shrugs. “Have fun with Dee?” 

Isaac makes a face. “You put her up to that, didn’t you.” 

“Nope. Bossing Destiny is kind of like bossing the ocean. The only way it works is if you tell it to do what it was planning to do anyway. Tide’s coming in and you tell it to go out, well, you just look like a dumbass. Besides,” he gestures at Isaac with his soda can, “Dee is like twice as evil as I am on a good day, and three times on a bad one.”

“You’re about zero percent evil,” Isaac scoffs, and Peter just shrugs. “Seriously, compared to pretty much every other alpha I’ve met you’re a puppy.” 

“Aww, Isaac, you say the sweetest things.” He grins and prods Isaac with his toes. Isaac swats at his foot, but Peter is persistent enough that Isaac finally catches his ankle to make him stop. Then Peter does something with his leg that manages to break Isaac’s grip without hurting him at all, and Isaac tries to grab for it again but Peter’s having none of that, and before either of them think about it very hard the poking has turned into a full-out wrestling match. Their books fall to the floor with a series of quiet thuds, and Isaac re-discovers that Peter is an alpha after all, much stronger than he looks. But he’s not using that strength out of proportion to Isaac’s own, as though they were just two normal boys wrestling instead of two werewolves. When they end up tumbling onto the floor after the books, Isaac is the one who ends up on top, his legs pinning Peter’s down and his hands wrapped around Peter’s wrists. 

“Uncle,” says Peter, laughing, and as he breathes Isaac realizes that he’s sitting across Peter’s hips, that he’s leaning over this boy who is also an alpha, that Peter is utterly unafraid and that his eyes are very blue. Peter stops laughing but he doesn’t stop smiling. 

“You let me win,” Isaac accuses weakly, licking his lips because they’ve suddenly gone dry. 

“Nah, you wanted it more. I’d have had to cheat to beat you.” Peter sounds casual, but his eyes follow Isaac’s tongue until he flicks them away.

“Alpha strength is cheating?”

“It is when I don’t need to win.” Peter shrugs, and it moves his wrists enough to remind Isaac that he’s still sitting on Peter, still holding him down. He moves suddenly and all at once, retreating back up onto the bed, and Peter sits up with a groan and flops back onto the mattress. “Paper?” 

Isaac’s cheeks feel warm and he doesn’t look at Peter, just reaches down to retrieve their books. “Yeah.” He tosses Peter’s notebook onto his lap. “Still zero percent evil.” Peter just chuckles, because he’s in no position to argue it.


	5. Chapter 5

The night of the full moon, Isaac and Scott stay home with pizza, a box of microwave popcorn and the McCall netflix subscription, ostensibly because there’s nothing better to do despite the fact that there are three parties and a rave going on, but actually because neither of them are perfectly sure that Scott’s control is going to hold. Melissa has an overnight shift, so they’re completely alone for the first time in awhile. And it’s nice, actually, watching Mythbusters and trying to catch popcorn in their mouths, but the higher the moon gets the harder it is to maintain that good mood. Gradually, they go quiet, and then the hundredth explosion of the night seems to just set Scott off, and he’s up and pacing, eyes glowing and breath harsh through his fangs.

“Hey,” Isaac says, “you okay?” He can feel the pull of the moon, the pull of his alpha along the connection between them, and he takes a deep breath. When Scott doesn’t answer, Isaac gets up, catches his shoulders, makes Scott look at him. 

“Hey,” he repeats, and Scott growls, claws extending at his sides. Isaac’s fingers tighten as his eyes flare gold, and he takes another deep breath. He thinks of his father, thinks of Scott’s grip strong on his arm in a tub of ice water, thinks of Peter’s easy smile and the calming lull of Destiny’s voice. Human things, grounding things. Things, as Destiny told him while she was teaching him to meditate, that his wolf doesn’t understand yet. “Hey, I’m right here with you, okay? We’re gonna do this, it’s going to be fine. I need you to stay with me, Scott, I need you to stay human.” 

It takes a moment, but awareness comes back to Scott’s eyes, though neither his claws nor his fangs recede. “Okay,” he says, after even longer. Isaac needs him. Okay.

“Good. Okay.” Isaac squeezes Scott’s shoulders again, but this time it’s relief, solidarity. He can do this. They can do this. “Let’s sit, okay?” Scott lets Isaac lead him, sits when Isaac presses down on his shoulders. His whole body moves with his breathing, but he’s watching Isaac, he’s staying human. “There’s a thing,” Isaac says, and mentally crosses his fingers that he can do this, “that might help you find your anchor. We can do that.”

“Yeah,” says Scott. “Let’s do that.”

Around 2am, Peter gets a text, rolls over and squints at his phone. It’s only two words, but that’s all it needs to be.

_We’re ok._

He smiles, rolls over and goes back to sleep.

**  
“You found a new anchor?” Isaac isn’t particularly sure he likes how incredulously Stiles says it, but when he follows it up with “That’s awesome!” he supposes he can let him live. 

“Yeah.” Scott’s smile is tired but also proud. “Isaac helped a lot.” 

“Isaac helped?” Now he sounds openly skeptical, and Isaac glares. He’s too tired for this crap. Who let Stiles be a morning person even though he’s not sleeping either?

“Isaac helped,” he snaps, and heads over to his own locker. Never mind that Isaac had some help being helpful, in the end he’d had to do it on his own.

“Don’t be a jerk, Stiles,” Scott says, still across the hall. “I almost lost it, and he pulled me back.” 

“Oooh-kay.” Stiles still sounds skeptical, but Scott’s defense takes all the annoyance out of Isaac’s sails, and he heads to class with a pleased warmth behind his breastbone.

There’s no Art, so Isaac barely sees Peter until lunch and that’s only really a confirmation that he’s there, because Peter is as alone under his tree as ever and the vast majority of their mealtime is spent listening to Scott recount the previous evening. Isaac’s pretty all right with that, though, since it gains him a few impressed looks. Most of the way through the story, he notices that Peter’s headphones are in but his head isn’t bobbing, and one time when Isaac glances over Peter glances back and his mouth curves into a smile. 

He still has to tell the story that afternoon, though, because Destiny practically swoops in on him the moment he comes through the door, pulling him into a hug he never even remotely asked for but can’t exactly find it in himself to protest anyway. 

“You did so good, sweetie! Tell me all about it.” Isaac is sort of tempted to ask how she knows that if she needs to hear the story, but then Peter hands him a soda and he decides it’s not worth the answer and just tells the thing. 

“You did good,” Peter agrees when he’s finished. “Real good.” He pats Isaac’s knee. “Oh I guess you did good too, Dee,” he adds, and she sticks out her tongue at him. 

“He picked it up faster than you did,” she reminds him.

“Our little savant,” Peter answers, saluting Isaac with his drink, and Isaac is torn between being annoyed at the seeming mockery and pleased by the _our_ , so he settles for giving Peter the finger and a smarmy smile.

“I try.”

That seems to be the right answer, because both Rumanceks burst out laughing. “We’re keeping him, right? He’s too cute.” Destiny says, and Peter waggles his eyebrows and gives Isaac the sort of smile that could definitely be interpreted as a yes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW.

One day when Isaac comes into the shop, he notices that there is something distinctly...different going on. The sign is flipped to closed but the door is unlocked, and when he pushes it open he hears music and a very distinct rhythmic sound that leads him to hurry up the stairs. 

“Uh,” he says when he comes in. Peter’s got music playing too, which Isaac is grateful for because walls are not nearly as soundproof as he would currently like them to be. 

“Hey.” Peter seems very nonchalant about the whole thing, standing with a shrug and tilting his pack of cigarettes in obvious inquiry. 

“Yeah, sure. Yeah.” Peter grabs two sodas and Isaac follows him to the back of the apartment and out onto the fire escape. He shuts the window behind them, leaving it cracked just enough to get his fingers beneath to pull it back up. He puts two cigarettes between his lips and lights both, then hands one to Isaac. “So, Destiny…” 

“Yep.” Peter shrugs. “Her choice.” 

“Well, I mean…” Isaac drags on his cigarette, ignoring the fact that he can taste Peter’s scent where his mouth was. “I kinda thought. Maybe.” 

“It’s really not a big deal, promise.” 

Isaac considers that. “Guess that’s why Deaton’s not so down with her.” 

“Deaton’s a traditionalist. Druidic mysticism and all that, families of emissaries serving families of werewolves. Dee’s Dee, and we’re one family.” Peter sums up centuries of tension in two sentences and a shrug.

“You guys just love pissing people off, huh.”

Peter grins. “Basically. Bugs the shit out of people when you ignore their traditions and don’t get struck down by lightning.” That makes Isaac laugh.

By the time they’re done smoking Destiny is in the shower, and when she emerges from it she pats Isaac’s head on her way past the sofa. “Sorry about that, sweetie, thought you’d be by later.” 

“S’cool.” Isaac hopes he sounds cool with it, anyway. Peter doesn’t look up from what he’s reading, but Isaac can see his crooked smile. “Oldest profession, right?” 

“That it is. And he’s a sweet man. Doesn’t want to believe his wife’s having an affair.”

“Is she?” Isaac raises his eyebrows.

“Oh, yeah, definitely. But in fairness, he did first.” She collapses down onto the couch, which makes her shirt ride up, and she laughs at the magnetic draw of Isaac’s gaze. “Sorry, sweetie, I don’t take friends as clients.” Isaac doesn’t realize he’s pouting until Destiny and Peter burst out laughing in unison. “But I have a cousin who would totally do you for free.” 

Peter’s laughter abruptly stops as he chokes, coughing hard enough that he jerkily stands up and heads into the kitchen for water. As he walks by he hits Destiny on the side of the head with the ends of his fingers, and she gives Isaac a knowing grin. Isaac is pretty sure that his mouth is hanging wide open, and shuts it with a sudden click of his teeth. 

Peter coughs a few more times while the kitchen tap is running, and Isaac can hear him drinking, trying to catch his breath and calm his heartrate. Once he can breathe properly again he snaps something in Romanian that almost sounds truly annoyed, and they go back and forth for a minute before Destiny says something in a distinctly victorious tone and Peter gives a derisive snort and pulls two beers from the fridge before coming to sit down again. His cheeks are pink and Isaac is pretty sure that it’s not from choking, and he doesn’t quite look at Isaac when he hands him his drink. Isaac didn’t ask for a beer, but he drinks it anyway. Fortuitously, before any sort of awkward silence can ensue, the bell on the door indicates that Lynda is home, and Peter heads down without a word, ostensibly to see if she needs help. 

Isaac sits staring at his beer in gobsmacked confusion for a moment before he slowly turns his head to look at Destiny. 

“Really?” 

She winks, scruffs his hair, and disappears into her bedroom.

Peter’s still kind of being weird on the drive home, self-conscious instead of self-aware. He taps his thumbs on the steering wheel in rhythm to the softly playing radio.

“You know,” he says, when they’re halfway back to the McCall house, “what Dee said earlier…”

“Yeah?” Isaac prompts, when Peter trails off and doesn’t resume his train of thought. It’s raining, enough that he needs to have the wipers running, and Isaac counts four _whip-whips_ of the blades before Peter speaks, slowing at a stop-sign. 

“She was just, I donno, fucking around. Sometimes s--” But Peter doesn’t get to finish the sentence because Isaac is leaning across the gear shift, his hand on the side of Peter’s face to turn his head and his lips pressed to Peter’s mouth, which is still pursed in mid-word. 

Peter seems to come to his senses all at once, and Isaac can’t quite parse the meaning of the little sound he makes in the back of this throat but the fact that he’s being kissed back is plenty clear. Peter’s fingers touch his face, light and almost tentative, like Isaac is something fragile or important.

Then there’s the sound of a car horn from directly behind them and they startle apart, wide eyed, hearts pounding. Peter lets out a nervous laugh and begins to drive again. 

“Ah,” he says, “the hell with it.” 

He makes a turn that is definitely not the way to the McCall house, and two minutes later they pull into the parking lot of a little community park. Peter turns off the car and cuts the headlights, and abruptly they’re in the dark, surrounded by the sound of rain on the car roof. Isaac barely parses the click of Peter’s seatbelt before the other boy somehow gets himself out of the driver’s seat and over the gearshift and onto Isaac’s lap, head bent awkwardly beneath the shallow ceiling. 

“Hi,” he says, silly and incongruous, his nose almost touching Isaac’s nose and his forearms braced on the back of Isaac’s seat. 

“Hi,” Isaac says, breathless and nonplussed, and then Peter kisses him, makes a sweet little sound as his chest presses to Isaac’s, and Isaac’s not sure when his hands ended up under Peter’s shirt but his back is warm and solid and Isaac likes the way Peter’s muscles move under his fingers. The fingers that run through his hair are gentle, and Isaac can feel Peter’s nails on his scalp but they’re the blunt, human sort and the drag of them sends a thrill up his spine. His lips part and Peter immediately takes advantage, kissing Isaac like he’s exploring but not conquering, offering plenty of space for Isaac to step up himself. Which he does, hands tightening on Peter’s back as he traces Peter’s teeth with his tongue. 

When they finally part to breathe Isaac opens his eyes to find himself looking into Peter’s, softly glowing red in the dark. As aware as Isaac is that Peter is a werewolf, he’s still not used to seeing it. But his hands are still gentle, claws sheathed, and he traces the curve of Isaac’s eyebrow with his thumb while they both catch their breath. 

“Really?” Isaac finds himself asking, and Peter laughs, teeth white and blunt and human.

“Really. No accounting for taste.” He smiles and kisses Isaac again, more briefly this time. He traces the outline of Isaac’s ear with the pad of his finger. “But I should get you home.” 

“Yeah.” Which isn’t exactly what his hormones want him to say, but it’s still the right answer, and watching Peter try and reverse whatever insane maneuver got him into Isaac’s lap in the first place is funny enough to put a damper on the hormones. By the time they get to the McCall house, it’s sort of like Isaac could pretend that never happened, like he didn’t now know the weight of Peter across his thighs or what his tongue tasted like. That seems like it’s for the best, right this second, because he sure as hell doesn’t want to explain either of those things to Scott. 

“Later, Isaac,” Peter says as Isaac opens the car door into the rain. “Run for it.” Isaac looks at Peter for a long second, and then he does.

** 

Even running to the house, Isaac gets soaked enough that he feels like he can justify taking a shower, especially since it’s chilly and he’s already eaten dinner, while Scott and Melissa are in the middle of theirs. Being cold and not wanting to drip on the carpet also gives him an excuse to get upstairs quickly, which he does. 

He doesn’t let himself think until he’s safely under the shower spray, which hits between his shoulders once he’s braced himself against the wall with one hand, and he’s braced against the wall because _Peter_. 

Peter on his lap. Hands in his hair, scent in his nose, tongue in his mouth. The little sound he’d made when Isaac’s fingers pressed into the muscles of his back. The muscles of his back, the shifting of his shoulders beneath Isaac’s hands, the heat and hardness in the front of his jeans pressing into Isaac’s stomach.

Fuck.

Isaac wraps a hand around his cock and bites his lip as his fingers squeeze. He wonders how Peter touches himself. He wonders how Peter would touch him, whether it would be the same or different. He wonders whether Peter would touch his cock like he touched his face, gentle and reverent, or whether he’d be playful and a little rough, like the time they’d wrestled. 

Peter kissed him, wanted to kiss him again but didn’t. Peter’s eyes had gone red, gone red for _him_. Isaac wants to see that again, those red, red eyes coupled with blunt teeth and soft hands, that little sign of wanting something enough to let go and wanting it enough to hold back. He wants Peter’s hand where his hand is, wants to know what Peter sounds like when Isaac’s hands aren’t just on his back. He just wants. 

Isaac comes with a little sound and more force than he expects, wringing the breath out of himself for a moment. Once his knees steady, he gives himself the quickest washdown possible and jumps out of the shower before anyone can get suspicious about him being in there too long.

“Feeling better?” Melissa asks when he comes back downstairs with damp hair in his pajamas. 

“Yeah,” Isaac says, and means it. 

**

“So?” Destiny says when Peter walks in the door, and his glare continues to be ineffective because she just grins. “There was kissing, wasn’t there. You kissed him!”

“He kissed me,” Peter says, “not that it is any of your goddamn business.” He fills a glass with ice and tap water. The ice crackles loudly. “And then I kissed him more.” 

Destiny makes the sort of sound that one generally makes when confronted with an adorable puppy. “Good boy.” 

“And now I am going to have a shower,” he adds, with far more dignity than he has any right to, considering that they are both well aware of exactly why he’s having a shower.

Peter turns the shower on and lets it run, but he doesn’t get in immediately. Instead he lets the room steam, heating his skin until he can smell Isaac in the air again, from his hands where they’d run through the other boy’s hair. Once he has that scent, really has it in his mind, he steps beneath the water, strokes a whisper of it from his palm over the length of his cock, lets it get washed away. 

Peter’s been dreaming about the taste of Isaac’s mouth since the night after Isaac pulled him into an uncomfortable chair-desk and drolly called him ‘partner’, since the first time Isaac came over. He’s caught glimpses of it on the lip of a shared drink, on the filter of a shared cigarette, but that’s not at all the same as a mouth full of it, any more than a seed is the same as the whole of a pomegranate. Peter wants to unwrap Isaac, to peel back the layers of hurt and distrust and anger and fear and find the sweet beneath. He wants Isaac, but not as pack, not for power. He wants him because he does, wants him like he wanted Letha, wants him like the one piece of discord that perfects the harmony of the whole. 

He wants to earn Isaac, wants to be wanted, not needed, to be walked beside and not behind. He wants to watch those pretty blue eyes glow gold, wants the way Isaac’s breath hitches when he doesn’t even know it, wants the blushing and the way that Isaac’s mouth widens just like his eyes when something surprises him.

Peter comes with a sigh, shuddering hard, lets himself lean one shoulder against the wall to catch his breath. 

He still can’t say Letha’s name, but he’s got it bad. And worse, he’s pretty sure she would approve, would like how hard Isaac makes Peter work for a smile and how much he teases. He tilts his head back, lets the water fall on his face, and tries to hope just a little, but not too hard.


	7. Chapter 7

Peter’s putting his books into his locker when Allison leans up against the one next to his. “Hi,” she says, and Peter can’t quite read her tone, so he pulls one more book out of his bag and puts it on the top shelf, then shuts his locker door. 

“Hi,” he answers. Allison is pretty, she’s poised, she puts a lot of time and effort into making sure she looks like she’s together, especially when she isn’t. She looks tired. They haven’t spoken since Peter approached her the once in Art, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t know what he’s been up to. A hunter is a hunter, and she’s friends with Isaac besides. 

“I just wanted to thank you. For whatever you taught Isaac to help Scott.” That isn’t what Peter was expecting to hear, and he blinks. Her books are held defensive in front of her chest, but she sounds sincere. Peter gives a wry smile, drops his eyes and shakes his head.

“Nah, that wasn’t me. That was my cousin, Destiny. She’s our Deaton.” 

“Oh.” This information seems to surprise her. “Isaac didn’t mention where he learned, so I figured…” She tilts her head and shrugs a shoulder.

“She _is_ my cousin,” Peter says, which is more or less agreeing with the sentiment. “Isaac and I are partners on that History paper,” he adds, suddenly aware that Isaac needs an excuse for being at his house. 

“Uh huh.” She purses her lips, tilts her head. “He’s over at your house like every day? You don’t learn guided meditation by doing it once.” 

Peter shrugs. “They worked on it for a week.” Allison nods, slowly.

“And what’s your excuse going to be when the paper is finished?” 

Peter blinks. “Huh?” 

“What’s your excuse for Isaac coming over going to be when the paper is finished?” She says it slowly, enunciating just enough to make the words come out crisp. She doesn’t seem even slightly cowed by Peter’s momentary glare, though he hears her heart stutter. Then his shoulders slump.

“I don’t know. I was kinda hoping Scott was going to be a bit more reasonable about this, but having heard the whole story...I get it. I do. Except I don’t want his pack, I don’t want this town, I just…” He shrugs.

“You just want to help.” Her brows furrow as she says it, head tilting in the opposite direction like a curious hawk. Then she snorts. “Wait. Wait a second. You like Isaac, don’t you. _Like_ like him.” Peter’s expression must be a sufficient answer, because she laughs, covering her mouth and shaking her head. “Oh my god, you do. You really do.” Peter sighs and runs a hand through his hair, and when he looks up Allison is abruptly closer, looking right into his face, serious. “If this is some kind of messed up werewolf power game, I will fill you with so many pointy things that you’ll wish that I’d just bisected you with a sword.” 

“It’s not.” Peter takes the threat fairly calmly, except for how all of the blood leaves his face. Still, he meets her eyes. “The last thing I want is Isaac in my pack. I want him to stay with Scott, I want you all to stay with Scott, and I want Scott to understand that.” He takes a slow breath, nose full of Allison’s light, pretty perfume and the tang of oiled metal still hanging on her hands.

“Okay,” she says after a moment, and steps back. “I’ll work on it. Give me your phone number.” She holds out her phone, waits for him to tap his information in, primly checks it before the phone disappears back into the pocket of her skirt. “Oh, and my father wants to talk to you.” 

“I’m sure he knows where Destiny’s shop is. I’m always there after school. Make sure Isaac has something else to do on the day he comes over.” 

“Gotcha.” She waves at him over her shoulder as she walks away, and Peter slumps against the door of his locker. What the hell has he gotten himself into?

**

Peter’s already in Art when Isaac walks in, and Allison gives him a funny little smile as he shuffles past her to sit down, like she knows a secret. Peter gives him a much less confusing little smile when he sits, and even though it’s the same smile as he gives Isaac every time he’s sat down in Art since they started taking the class, this time it makes his ears feel warm. He ducks his head, tries to look anywhere but at Peter, except then his eyes light on Allison across the room, the corners of her mouth curved into an amused little smirk. 

“Did you _tell_ her?” he mutters under his breath. 

“No.”

“So…?”

“So your werewolf hunting friend is very observant. Everyone is shocked.” 

Isaac rolls his eyes. “Great. That’s just great.” 

“It might be.” 

That makes Isaac turn his head to actually look at Peter. “You are completely insane.” 

“Maybe.” Peter shrugs and smiles at his painting instead of looking at Isaac. “She threatened to fill me with pointy things, though, so I think she’s okay with it.” 

Isaac makes a little choking noise. “Yeah. She, uh. Does that. With pointy things.” 

“Figured.” 

“You’re really calm about that.”

Peter glances at Isaac, finds him not even pretending to paint anymore. “Argents have rules. Rumanceks have rules. In this case, our rules are compatible. What I want fits just fine with what she wants.” 

“What do you want?” Peter’s eyes flick to Isaac’s face and slowly travel downwards in a way that makes Isaac wish they weren’t in a classroom. “O-oh.” 

Peter gives a one shouldered shrug and a crooked smile. “Yep.” Isaac takes a deep breath that’s meant to be calming, except then he smells Peter and it’s not really calming at all, the scent of him threaded with the beginnings of arousal, and he huffs out a breath in a way that makes Peter almost laugh. 

“You’re horrible,” Isaac informs him.

“Smell yourself and then talk to me,” Peter says, and Isaac has to admit he kind of has a point, and that pointing it out really doesn’t help at all. Nor does the fact that Isaac catches Peter’s eyes cutting down to glance at his lap. 

“Jesus, Peter, think about baseball or something. Down, boy.”

“You first.” 

“You’re the alpha.”

“Which means my sense of smell is better than yours.”

“Oh.” Isaac thinks about baseball, does multiplication tables in his head, breathes through his mouth. Except his eyes keep wandering back to Peter, whose eyes keep wandering back to him. “ _Baseball. Icy cold showers._ ”

Peter chuckles despite himself. “Icy cold showers, gotcha.” 

When the bell rings and Isaac stands to go, he finds Peter right behind him. Usually they turn different ways to go to class, but Peter doesn’t, and then there’s a hand firm around Isaac’s wrist and he finds himself being yanked into a darkened classroom. The door clicks shut behind Peter, who looks up at Isaac. Isaac looks at Peter. 

He has no idea who kisses who first but it’s Peter who pulls Isaac until he hits a wall, Peter’s hand splayed on the small of Isaac’s back holding him close, as though Isaac needs any encouragement to press Peter against a wall and tangle his fingers in his hair. It’s softer than he expects. Peter’s tongue tastes like toothpaste and wanting in his mouth, and his eyes are open and glowing red. That probably should make Isaac afraid but it doesn’t, because Peter’s teeth are blunt against his tongue and Isaac knows that his own eyes are gold. He rocks into Peter and they both break their kiss to whine at it, foreheads and noses bumping before Isaac catches Peter’s lip between his teeth and pulls him back in.

The bell ringing makes them both wince with the loudness of it, leaves them staring at each other and trying to catch their breath. 

“Fuck,” Peter breathes, and Isaac laughs helplessly.

“You could at least buy me dinner first, Rumancek.”

“How many dinners have you eaten at my house?” 

“...point.” 

Peter grins. “Come over today.”

In truth, Isaac had been planning to anyway. “Gotta finish that paper.” 

“Yep. That paper.” Peter’s staring at Isaac’s mouth, his own lips just barely parted. “We’ve got to get to class.” 

“Kinda have a little problem,” Isaac points out, taking a step back and attempting to adjust himself. 

“Little?” Peter raises both eyebrows and Isaac can’t help but look down.

“Okay, maybe not. Shut up, thinking about that qualifies as _not helping at all_.”

“Tell it to wait,” Peter says, “for later.” As though he’s not in the exact same condition and incredibly aware of exactly how difficult that is, he folds his jacket over his arm to drape in front of him, puts his bag on his shoulder and heads out. 

“Oh my god, _the opposite of helping_!” Isaac calls after him.

**

Allison watches Peter yank Isaac into a classroom with a bit of a smirk. There’s a little bit of jealousy in it too, but she knows, she _knows_ that Isaac is a bad idea, that they’d just end up tearing each other up in a way that Allison is getting pretty sick of people being torn up. 

Then she turns and finds herself face to face with Scott. “Oh. Scott. Hi.”

“Hey.” Scott’s smile is easier since the full moon, although it’s not as bright toward her as it used to be. “Hey, have you seen Isaac? I wanted to talk to him after Art.”

“Nope,” Allison says, taking Scott’s arm and steering him down the hall. “No idea where he went after class. Can it wait until lunch?”

“Well,” Scott glances back, sounding a little unsure, “yeah, it can wait. Is something up?”

“No! No. I just wanted to talk to you about--” she gropes for something, anything, “--about that meditation thing. Maybe it would help me and Stiles too, do you think?” 

“Maybe. I mean, it can’t hurt to try, right?” He turns his hopeful puppy face on her, and Allison wonders if her groped-for excuse might not actually be such a bad idea. 

“Right. We can talk at lunch, this is my stop.” She lets go of his arm and heads into class with a little wave. 

Peter slinks into class several minutes late, slouches into the only available seat, which Allison has artfully arranged to be right in front of hers. She leans forward, folding her arms across her desk. 

“You owe me,” she murmurs, “bigtime.” 

“Noted,” Peter says, looking over his shoulder with a crooked grin.

“I like chocolate, coffee, peanut-butter cookies and bladed weapons.” 

“Starbucks?”

“Saturday.”

“Deal.” She leans back again, satisfied.


	8. Chapter 8

Isaac doesn’t even glance in Peter’s direction all through lunch. He can’t; it feels like every nerve between his navel and his knees wakes up as soon as he even so much as glimpses the other boy. Thinking about him is bad enough, but he can’t seem to stop doing that. It’s small comfort that Peter seems to be having the exact same problem, that Isaac can feel Peter’s eyes on him, daring him to look up. The universe is out to blueball him into next week, though, because he can’t even escape the other boy in conversation. 

“So,” Allison says, “that meditation thing. I was thinking that maybe it could help more of us than just Scott.” 

Isaac winces a little, because yeah, that probably should have occurred to him too. “It might, yeah. But it’s not like I’m an expert or anything.”

“How’d you learn, anyway?” Leave it to Stiles to ask that question. “You don’t really seem like a meditation kind of guy.” 

Isaac shrugs, overly casual. “I’ve been working on that history project at Peter’s, right? His cousin is into all that new-age stuff.” He pauses. “And she’s kind of an emissary, so…” 

“Wait, she’s an _emissary_? This is kind of important information, Isaac.” 

“He told us that she wasn’t a werewolf way back when, Stiles.”

“And there are like how many other options besides emissary?” 

“And you didn’t mention this to the people who are actually good at deductive reasoning ‘way back when’ because?” Lydia interrupts the conversation, eyebrows raised at Stiles and Scott.

“Uhh…” 

“Right.” She folds her arms primly in front of her. “So, Peter’s cousin.”

“Destiny.”

“Peter’s cousin, Destiny--seriously, that’s her name?--do you think she’d teach other people?” 

“Probably not if you make fun of her name,” Isaac points out, and Lydia rolls her eyes. “Fine, I can ask her. Probably. She’s nice.” 

“Nice as in nice, or nice as in hot?” Isaac glares at Stiles, then shrugs.

“Both.” Most of the heads at the table crane to look at Peter.

“His cousin is hot? Does she comb her hair?” Isaac ignores the way Allison looks at him in the wake of Stiles’ words.

“Oh my god, Stiles.” His eyes might fall out if he rolls them any harder. “Yes, she combs her hair. God.” 

“Just asking, jeez.” 

“Could you ask her, though, Isaac?” Allison cuts in, before Isaac can open his mouth to form a retort. He slouches back, slightly mollified.

“Yeah, I can ask her. I’ll let you know what she says.” 

“Oh, that reminds me!” Scott slaps his forehead. “What I wanted to tell you, Isaac--Mom’s working another overnight and Kira and I are gonna order pizza and work on our paper, so…”

Isaac isn’t sure whether he should be feeling quite so relieved. “Yeah, it’s cool, I gotta work on that too. I’ll talk to Destiny when I see her.” 

“Such dedicated scholars,” Lydia quips, dry as the desert, but then the bell rings and only the girls notice that Scott isn’t the only one who blushes and ducks his head. 

**

Isaac and Peter walk home from school mostly in silence, except for Isaac recounting their lunchtime conversation. Peter mostly just nods along, makes a sound or two in the right places. Destiny is in the midst of a tarot reading when they walk in, and she doesn’t even look over at them as they cut through the shop to the stairs. Peter takes off his shoes and coat in the doorway like always, but instead of dropping his bag by the couch he just goes straight into his room. Isaac follows, bringing his bag along as well. 

“Close the door,” Peter says, so Isaac does. He only just hears the click before Peter is pressing him against it, all warm skin and red eyes and the heat of his mouth, and Isaac’s hands fist helplessly in the back of his shirt as blood rushes furiously back into his cock and his tongue slides against Peter’s. Isaac keens as one of Peter’s thighs works its way between his, hips jerking without his conscious consent.

“God,” Isaac whispers, as Peter’s mouth drags away from his and begins a path of kisses down the side of his neck.

“Just Peter,” Peter replies, and Isaac can feel him grin. 

“You’re an asshole.”

“Yep. And you’re really fucking pretty, jesus.” 

“Just Isaac.” Isaac’s voice comes out a bit shaky, because Peter’s tongue is pressed against his pulsepoint, but Peter still chuckles.

“You’re really fucking pretty, just Isaac.” Peter’s hands have somehow made it beneath Isaac’s shirt, trace over the dip of his hips and the spread of his ribs and make Isaac’s back arch. “And wearing too many clothes.” 

Isaac pushes away from the door, pulls his shirt over his head in one smooth movement. “Easily fixed.” Peter has to unbutton his shirts, so it’s a bit slower, but Isaac can’t say he’s disappointed with what’s underneath them. Peter’s less built than any of the Beacon Hills wolves, more sleek than bulky but more solid than he looks with his clothes on. He has a tattoo on his left ribs, an angular lower-case letter _g_. Isaac wets his lips, and Peter watches the path of his tongue. He steps closer to Isaac, reaches out and takes ahold of his belt. 

“Okay?” he asks. Isaac thinks he can feel the heat of Peter’s hands through the fabric of his jeans, even though that should be impossible. 

“ _God_. Yeah, okay.” He’s not slow about it, doesn’t draw it out, but he is careful, gentle as he unbuckles Isaac’s belt, unzips his fly and pushes down his jeans until they fall into a heap around his ankles. It’s Isaac, though, who impatiently pushes his boxers down after them and kicks his feet free as he grabs for Peter’s belt. He doesn’t even give Peter a chance to untangle his legs from his pants and underwear before kissing him again, gasping as bare skin touches bare skin. Peter’s eyes flutter closed and he makes a little sound as his hips jerk forward, and then Isaac makes a little sound as his cock rubs against Peter’s belly. 

“Bed,” Peter says, pushing Isaac in that direction and then freeing his feet from his jeans. Isaac looks at him, not quite sure where to go or what to do or what he wants besides _more_. Peter pauses, just for a second, before he wraps his arms around Isaac’s waist and pulls him down onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs that doesn’t quite land anybody on top. Isaac gives a startled laugh that gets muffled when Peter kisses him and turns into a groan as Peter wraps a leg around his leg and grinds his hips into Isaac’s. 

“Fuck-” 

“That’s the idea.” Peter’s hand slides down over the curve of Isaac’s ass and squeezes, and Isaac’s hips jerk forward and then arch back into the touch.

“Does this count?” The words slur against Peter’s mouth, and Peter opens his eyes to look at Isaac.

“Uh, yeah.” His tone conveys that this is the most obvious thing ever, and he shifts his hips so that his cock rubs against Isaac’s, trapped between their bellies. “What would you call it?” 

“I’m okay with fucking,” Isaac manages after a moment, and rolls Peter onto his back because there’s just not enough friction if they’re both on their sides. He braces for a protest, but the only thing Peter does is slide both of his hands down to Isaac’s ass and squeeze. Peter’s hips rock beneath him like he doesn’t quite mean to be doing it, like he just can’t stay still, and he looks up at Isaac with those glowing eyes, cheeks flushed and a smile playing at the corners of his mouth like he can’t help that either. 

Isaac doesn’t want to rush it, wants to make it last, but the truth of it is that he’s been on a hair-trigger all day and so has Peter and once they figure out the rhythm of it, a nearly embarrasingly short amount of time passes before Isaac whines and buries his face in Peter’s neck. What’s not embarrassing at all, though, is the way that the first pulse of his muscles and the warm slick of come between their bellies is clearly what brings Peter off, almost silent as he arches and shakes beneath Isaac’s weight. After, his arms slide around Isaac’s back, at first just draped as they attempt to catch their respective breaths, but then holding him there, like he doesn’t mind a whole extra boy of additional weight on him. 

“Did we just…?” Isaac isn’t actually sure how to finish that sentence. 

“Take the edge off?” Isaac’s face is still in Peter’s neck, so when he speaks the words vibrate against his forehead and cheek. 

“Not what I was gonna say.” 

“Politely tear each other’s clothes off and come without anybody ever touching a dick?”

“...more like that one, yeah.” 

“Yeah, seems like it.” Peter shrugs the shoulder that Isaac’s head isn’t resting against. “Give it a few minutes.” 

Isaac lifts his head to look at Peter. “Are you serious?” 

“As taxes,” Peter answers, attempting to come up with a correspondingly solemn expression. 

“Oh my god.” Isaac hides his face in Peter’s neck again, but not before Peter sees him blush. 

“Still just Peter.” Isaac smacks him on the arm, and Peter chuckles. 

They lie quiet for a little while, Peter’s fingers counting up and down Isaac’s vertebrae and Isaac looking out the window at the lengthening shadows on buildings nearby and listening to the slowing rhythm of Peter’s heart. Then he lifts his head, turns it to look at Peter, finds Peter looking at him, his eyes dusty human blue. It doesn’t occur to Isaac that there’s anything to do but kiss him, slow and soft and wanting, but in no hurry. When he takes a breath he smells himself as much as Peter, smells both of them together, their scents not layered but commingled. Somehow that relaxes him. It pleases Isaac that Peter will sleep tonight on sheets that smell like him, that smell like _them_ , that Peter has let Isaac mark his territory.

That maybe Peter is saying he’s willing to be Isaac’s territory. 

Peter’s mouth is soft and his touch is gentle but everywhere, his hands on Isaac’s back, on his sides, on his arms, on his ass and his hips and the tops of his thighs. His hands make Isaac move, and then Peter moves beneath him, skin sliding against skin until there’s no room in Isaac’s head for anything but all this, right now. 

“I want to touch you,” Peter murmurs against Isaac’s mouth, and Isaac smiles. 

“Aren’t you?”

“No, I want to _touch_ you,” he repeats, and the emphasis makes it click. “Can I touch you?” 

It’s such a strange question, a question that nobody’s ever asked Isaac before. “I’ve been waiting for you to touch me all damn day,” he answers, and Peter chuckles. 

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” He’s not, really, and it’s obvious in his tone, but Isaac almost immediately after finds himself too busy being kissed to really protest. Peter rolls them onto their sides, guides one of Isaac’s legs to drape comfortably over his thigh, and then keeps kissing Isaac so that he almost doesn’t notice when Peter’s hand slips down between their bodies until there are fingers gently mapping the length of his cock and he gasps and shudders at it. 

“ _Oh-_ ” He’s still sensitive, and Peter’s fingers are warm and careful and also Peter’s and also on his cock, which feels nothing like he’d expected, familiar and foreign all at once. His thumb rubs up the underside of the head and Isaac moans, the entirety of his body twitching when Peter cups his palm and strokes the head of Isaac’s cock, touching all of the most sensitive parts at once. “Peter, god, please-”

“Please what?” His hand wraps around Isaac’s cock, gives a slow, firm stroke.

“I don’t know.” He sounds slightly frustrated by that, like if he can’t articulate his wants Peter might stop. “Just, god, more.” 

“Okay,” Peter says, and then he stops touching Isaac and Isaac groans, jerking his head back. “I’m not teasing. One second.” He levers himself up onto his elbow, twists himself to reach into the nightstand beside the bed. When what he grabs is a bottle of lube, Isaac tenses. 

“Woah--”

“It’s okay. It’s not for what you think.” He pours some onto his fingers, lets out a huff of breath as he slicks it over his own cock. When he touches Isaac’s, he understands why, because the lube is cold. But then Peter closes the bottle and nestles close to Isaac again, adjusts Isaac’s leg with slippery fingers until Isaac can feel Peter’s cock touch his every time either of them breathes. Then Peter’s hand is back, wrapping most of the way around Isaac’s cock, except for how his thumb catches his own cock, pressing the length of them together in a way that makes them both let out near-simultaneous shaky breaths. “Get your hand in there too,” he adds, voice gone considerably more breathless than it had been a minute before. “If you want,” he adds, and Isaac raises an eyebrow. 

“You’re kidding, right?”

“You ask me that a lot,” Peter answers, the last word almost surprised as Isaac’s fingers overlap Peter’s thumb, curiously feeling him out. Then Isaac makes a surprised noise when Peter’s cock twitches, and Peter gives a shy little smile. Then he rolls his hips, slow and experimental, and his cock slides against Isaac’s fingers and against his cock and he sees the merit in Peter’s plan. 

They’ve both already come the once, so there’s really no rushing the second time. It feels different, too, more sensitive and distant at the same time, the kind of thing that might be frustrating alone but together, with someone else feeling the same thing, somehow isn’t. They kiss until their mouths feel bruised and then keep kissing, and when they need to breathe more than they need to kiss Peter just rests his forehead against Isaac’s, lines their noses up side by side, and it’s almost close enough to be a kiss anyway. 

The room has gone dark with twilight and everything around them feels slow and syrupy, like they’ve fallen asleep and the harshness of their breath and the slick heat between their hands is just a dream, a forever squashed down or an instant drawn out because it’s just a little too good to be exactly what it is. When Peter comes it’s with Isaac’s name on his lips, and Isaac doesn’t think he’s ever going to forget exactly how that sounds.

“Say it again,” he whispers, trembling, and Peter lifts his head to lean close to his ear. 

“Isaac,” he murmurs, and Isaac moans and shakes apart.

**

At dinner, both of the Rumancek women seem content to ignore what everyone at the table is aware just happened, and after awhile Isaac decides to just go with it, because there’s nothing actually dangerous about this conversation. Destiny all but shoved him in this direction, and Lynda has never expressed anything but beaming affection for him since he walked in the door. It’s a meal oddly free of conversational mines, no fishing for confessions or details. 

“Isaac, didn’t you want to ask Dee something?” Peter inserts into a conversational lull. 

“Oh, right, yeah.” Isaac explains the situation as best he understands it, about sacrifices and the darkness and open doors, about Allison’s hallucinations and Stiles’ nightmares.

“Well.” Destiny presses her lips together, glances at Lynda and then at Peter. “I could try. As a favor to a friend. It really depends on them, though. I’m just a guide, they have to do the heavy lifting. And,” she looks at Isaac with an odd amount of sympathy, “not as an emissary. You be sure to tell them that.” Isaac just looks confused. “Just take my word for it, sweetie. It’s important.”

“Okay,” he says, shrugging and glancing over at Peter.

“It’s a magic thing. And a politics thing. This isn’t our territory, and alliances are made between alphas.” He shrugs. “Just tell them. The only one it might maybe mean anything to is Allison.”

“Are we ever gonna get that Werewolf 101?” Isaac asks.

“Up to Scott.”

“Well, you just significantly altered the timeline on that one, sweetie,” Lynda says, and Peter sighs. 

“I know. I’m working on it.”

“That’s my boy.” She ruffles Peter’s hair as she walks her plate into the kitchen.

“Anyway,” Destiny says before Isaac can ask what they’re talking about, “You all can come over sometime this weekend and we’ll see what there is to see.” 

“Over...here?” Isaac’s mouth twists, and he glances around.

“Downstairs, sweetie. I’m not letting a whole herd of teenagers into my home, you two are bad enough.” 

“Oi,” Peter says, despite the fact that he also relaxed at Destiny’s clarification. 

“There are only so many pups allowed in the house without breaking the terms of my lease,” she says, very seriously, and Peter rolls his eyes and shakes his head, grabbing Isaac’s empty plate to take into the kitchen along with his own.

“Saturday, maybe,” he says, belatedly, from the kitchen. “I kinda owe Allison a coffee.” 

“Do you,” Isaac says slowly, turning around in his chair to look at Peter. 

“She did me a favor after Art.” Peter shrugs eloquently, and Isaac is very, very glad that he only almost took a sip of his drink.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> awww shee-it, it's infodump time. but also sass and cuteness. and blowjobs.

Saturday turns out to be a busy day. Peter meets Allison at Starbucks at ten o’clock sharp, buys her a fancy latte and a blueberry muffin and a black coffee for himself. 

“So,” she says, carefully peeling the paper from her muffin. “I know who you are.” 

“I haven’t really made a secret of that,” Peter points out, and doesn’t drink his coffee. “Pretty sure I introduced myself specifically, even.”

“You sure did.” Her nails are painted a deep wine red, a compliment to her skin and also to the blue-purple berries in her muffin. Peter watches her carefully excise a bite-sized piece of muffin from the whole and put it in her mouth. “So why Isaac?” 

“Why Isaac? Why the sun?” She doesn’t buy it. “Why Scott?” That makes her blink and draw back in surprise, reevaluating him. 

“Is that really your business?”

“Nope.” Peter sips his coffee. “But sometimes the heart makes inconvenient decisions.” 

“If Scott thinks you’re trying to steal Isaac--”

“This has nothing to do with pack power dynamics and you know it.” 

“And you know how it looks.” 

“Yeah. To you guys. Fucking Hales.” He lets his head drop onto his forearm for a moment, then lifts it again. “I don’t want to be his _alpha_.” It sounds almost pleading, and Allison looks at him for a long, long time. 

“Oh,” she says. “You’re...you want…” She sets her chin on her hand, an incredulous sort of smile blooming on her face. “You want him to have a choice. You little old-fashioned romantic.”

“I’d offer the lady a cigar but this is a no-smoking establishment. And I’m not a romantic, I’m a Rumancek. This is how we do things.” 

“Speaking of Rumanceks doing things, Isaac said that your cousin gave some speech about not acting as an emissary?”

“You have your own. I don’t even pretend to get his agenda, but he’s Scott’s and Dee’s mine and unless Scott decides that I’m not his enemy, this is his town and she’s just someone with some experience in guided meditation helping some friends who are struggling with spiritual disquiet.”

“Y’know, none of the other alphas who came into town gave even half a crap.”

“See how that went for them.” Peter shrugs. “Deaton has roots here. We don’t put down roots, and we don’t dig them up, either.” He looks at her over the rim of his cup. “I need Scott to understand before Isaac gets hurt. We all need that, actually.”

Allison pauses with another piece of muffin halfway to her mouth. “Pardon?” 

“You called down a hurricane. It’s coming, and you know it.” He shakes his head. “This shit needs to be settled before then.”

“You said before Isaac gets hurt.” 

“Yeah.” He puts down his coffee and looks her straight in the face. “Because I don’t want him hurt.” 

Allison takes a moment to digest the implications of the statement. It’s easy, even in the midst of this conversation, to forget that she’s talking to an alpha, that Peter is an equal to the other alphas she’s seen despite how unassuming he seems.

“Okay, fair enough.” The piece of muffin goes into her mouth, and she chews. “You’re meeting my Dad while we hang out with your cousin?” 

“Yep. I’ve heard he’s quite a guy.” 

“...at our house?”

Peter snorts a laugh. “Oh, hell no. You guys are dangerous enough without walking into the den.” 

“We have our code--”

“And I have a healthy appreciation of human nature. And werewolf nature. And just nature.” 

Allison scoffs. “You’re _seventeen_.”

“And I was thirteen when I became an alpha. You see Scott now? Try that shit in middle school.” She doesn’t have much to say to that for a minute.

“Did you always know it was going to be you?” 

“Nah. Too much pressure for a kid. Pretty sure Lynda did, though. We spent a lot of time with Nic while we could.” 

“You really think you can teach them...whatever it is you do?” 

“I think Isaac’s already learning a little, just being around. Nobody...nobody taught them anything.” 

“You’re telling me.” Peter chuckles at Allison’s eyeroll. 

“Yeah, guess you’d know, huh. It’s just...well, it could be better. For them. Not cake, but not so hard.” 

“I hope you’re right. I really do.” She finishes the rest of her muffin and checks her watch. “Oh, I’ve got to get going. We’re all supposed to meet at your cousin’s in...fifteen minutes. You need a ride?” 

“Yeah, actually. Thanks.” He holds the door for her as they leave, half-drunk coffee in hand.

“No, thank _you_. I have no idea where we’re going.” 

They get there with three minutes to spare, and Peter heads upstairs to find Lynda only to be met instead with Isaac sitting on the couch, twisting his fingers. He stands up with a start when Peter walks in. 

“I just--” he starts, and doesn’t get any farther than that because Peter walks over and kisses him, hard at first and then softer, sweeter.

“Yeah, I know. Spent the ride back thinking how I could get you up here for five minutes,” he admits against Isaac’s mouth, making him huff a little laugh as his fingers twist in Peter’s hair. “That’s what you get for having shit to do the last two days.” 

“Shut up,” Isaac growls softly, and Peter grins into the kiss. 

“Boys,” Lynda says gently, and the only reason Isaac doesn’t startle back into the coffee table is Peter’s hand on his back. “They’re waiting for you downstairs, sweetie, and we need to get going, pumpkin.” She pats Isaac on the shoulder. “Wash your hands before you go down. You can take the rest of Peter’s coffee, I’m sure he doesn’t mind.” 

“Go for it,” Peter says, offering him the cup. “Tell Dee I said good luck.” 

“Will do. Later, Peter.” Isaac turns and heads for the bathroom, and Lynda herds Peter toward the stairs with motherly expertise. 

**

Lynda and Peter return just as the others are finishing up, and they walk into a room of sleepy-looking teenagers and a considerably more alert Destiny, who tilts her head toward the stairs. Peter and Lynda head up into the apartment, and Peter toes his shoes off and flops onto the couch to eavesdrop. Lynda taps his feet until he curls up and gives her room to sit. 

“Well,” Destiny says, “I think we can call that a fair success, yeah?” There are a variety of sleepy murmurs. “You can all sit and relax until you’re feeling a bit more alert to drive.”

“Peter home yet, Dee?” Isaac has done this more often, has started coming out of it more easily. 

“He’s upstairs, sweetie.” 

“What time is it?” That’s Scott, sleepy but forcing himself to alertness. 

“Uhh...4:45.” Stiles joins the conversation, then yawns and stretches, his back cracking.

“Crap. I’m supposed to--”

“Be at the Yukimura’s, we all know.” Lydia somehow manages to sound serene and snarky at the same time, a trait that Peter decides to admire on the spur of the moment. “Stiles, you’re driving me home. Allison has family night.” 

“Wh--okay, fine.” Stiles has stopped questioning Lydia’s orders, especially ones that will get him over to her house.

“In ten minutes,” Destiny says, “once you’ve all woken up.” 

“Bathroom,” Isaac murmurs. 

“Oh,” Allison says, “me too.”

“I’ll show you,” Isaac says, and then there are two sets of footsteps on the stairs. Peter and Lynda don’t move, don’t bother to pretend they haven’t been listening. “Hey,” Isaac says, and Peter smiles. 

“Hey. Bathroom’s over this way.” Lynda stands up and takes over. “I’m Lynda, by the way, Peter’s mom. You must be Allison. Bathroom’s right down here.” Isaac sits where Lynda just was, and lets Peter stretch his legs over his lap. 

“How’d it go?”

“Better than it could’ve?” Isaac shrugs. “Nothing exploded, nobody went crazy. I’ve just got anger issues, they’ve all got swinging wide back-doors to god-knows-what in their brains.” Not entirely true, but Peter’s certainly not going to call him on the lie. “Scott seems to like Dee okay, though.” 

“Baby steps,” Peter nods as Allison emerges from the bathroom. 

“Cute,” she says, seeing them spread out on the couch. “You need a ride, Isaac?” 

“Nah,” he waves a hand. “Project.” Peter silently provides the air quotes, and Isaac smacks his thigh when Allison laughs.

“Heard that one already today,” she says.

“My delivery was better,” Isaac points out. Allison considers this a moment, and then nods her agreement. 

“Mm. Anyway, I’m off.” But she pauses in the doorway, turns back to look at Peter. “Things go okay?” 

“Yeah.” Peter nods. “They went fine.” 

“Good. See you two.” She shuts the door behind her. 

“What an interesting group,” Lynda says from behind them, and Peter makes an amused sound when Isaac startles. “Sorry, sweetie.” She rubs his shoulder. “Why don’t you boys spend some time out on the fire escape? It’s such a pretty day.” Peter can’t actually contest the wisdom of this advice, and he definitely can’t contest it a few minutes later when they’ve arranged the cushions so that Peter can lean up against the side of the building and Isaac can lie between his legs and use Peter’s chest for a pillow while they share a cigarette.

“Where’d you go?” he asks, halfway through the cigarette, Peter’s fingers carding through his hair. 

“Talked to Chris Argent.” 

“Allison’s dad? Why?” Isaac tenses, and Peter soothes him without even thinking about it, fingers sliding from his hair to rub his shoulder. 

“Because he wanted to talk to us. Make sure we were still following the old family rules.” Peter shrugs, drags on the cigarette and then hands it to Isaac. “I’d rather not have any misunderstandings with them.” 

“Yeaaaaah, good idea.” He shudders a little. “Misunderstandings not recommended.” 

“Doing my best.” Neither of them says anything until Isaac finishes the cigarette and stubs it out in the ancient plastic ashtray. He twists around in Peter’s arms, slides up his body until Isaac can tilt his chin up and Peter can tilt his chin down and their mouths meet right in the middle. It’s only been a few days since Isaac was over, since they last had time actually to themselves, but it feels longer. “God,” he murmurs, “it’s crazy.” 

“Hmm?” Isaac opens his eyes to look at Peter, and their kisses become light, teasing things, bare touches of lips instead of actual presses. 

“How not that much time can seem like forever.” 

“It’s stupid, isn’t it?” Isaac laughs a little.

“No.” Peter brushes his mouth against Isaac’s, pulls away just enough to see the other boy stretch his neck and then leans in again to kiss him hard and deep until they’re both reeling. “It’s not stupid. It’s crazy, it’s weird.” He finds Isaac’s hand, fits their fingers together. It’s something he knew once and didn’t expect to know again. “It’s fuckin’ magical.” 

“You’re weird,” Isaac says, but he’s staring at the way his fingers knit with Peter’s fingers, the mountains of their knuckles and the rivers of bluish veins on the backs of their hands.

“Yep, a bit.” He kisses Isaac’s knuckle, then nips it. “Let’s go inside,” he murmurs, “and lie down.” 

“Naked?” 

“If you insist,” Peter says, in a tone that means he is likely to insist if Isaac doesn’t.

They leave the window open, let the traffic noise and chatter of birds filter into the room while they get tangled up in fabric trying to pull each other’s shirts off at the same time, while Peter trips out of his jeans and into bed and laughs when Isaac pounces on him while he’s trying to shake his ankle free. Peter wraps his legs around Isaac’s hips and refuses to let go, won’t allow himself to be pulled or shaken or tickled free until Isaac gives up and sits in the middle of the bed with his legs folded up and Peter between them, Peter’s heels resting on either side of the base of his spine.

“Happy now?” Isaac’s arms are a ring around Peter, holding their chests together, and Peter bumps his nose against Isaac’s nose, nuzzles his cheek. “You win.” 

“I was happy before,” Peter points out, kissing a trail down Isaac’s throat, “and how is this losing?” 

“Because it’s...not winning?” Isaac doesn’t have a good reason, or if he does he can’t remember it once Peter carefully presses his teeth into the muscle at the join of his neck and shoulder.

“What are your feelings on blowjobs?”

“I- uh…” Isaac swallows. “Yes?” 

“Good.” His legs finally loosen from around Isaac’s hips and he rocks forward, urging Isaac to lie back, dragging his mouth down Isaac’s chest in a succession of smeared, lazy kisses. 

“You’ve--have you, um…” Peter licks the shadow of muscle that runs down from Isaac’s hip, and he loses his train of thought to an unsteady sound.

“Nope. Not with a guy.” Isaac can feel the breath from Peter’s words on his skin, and he shivers when Peter brushes his nose against the root of Isaac’s cock and inhales deeply, scenting him.

“Oh,” says Isaac. And then he says it again, with feeling, as Peter gives the head of his cock an experimental lick. Peter grins and does it again, swirls his tongue around the crown of it like an ice cream cone, and Isaac’s hips arch up off the bed. “ _Peter-_ ”

“Down, boy,” Peter murmurs as he gets comfortable between Isaac’s legs and lays an arm across his hips. “Barely even started yet.”

“Well don’t stop there,” he huffs, squirming as Peter takes his cock loosely in hand, holding it still at the base. So Peter doesn’t stop there, takes the head into his mouth and lets the taste and texture of it fill his senses. He wiggles his tongue, and Isaac gasps, takes more into his mouth and then tightens his arm when Isaac’s hips buck up.

“Sorry,” he gasps, “sorry, I’m sor--”

“Shh.” Peter drops a kiss on his hip and then slides his lips back down Isaac’s cock until his mouth is entirely full, tongue heavy and jaw stretched with it, and spends a moment weighing the sensation before he decides it’s good, and hums his approval. Isaac keens, heels dragging up the mattress as his legs draw up, then groans in relief as Peter adjusts his position a bit and begins to move. 

It’s all a little clumsy, Peter getting the rhythm and technique of it and Isaac never having had anyone’s mouth on him before, but they both do better once Isaac tangles his fingers in Peter’s hair and Peter gets a good hold on Isaac’s hips. Isaac comes arched and shaking, twisted to bury his face in Peter’s pillow and muffle the moan he can’t even begin to stop. Peter wipes his mouth and crawls back up the bed, collapses next to Isaac and gathers him up when the other boy half rolls onto him and demands a breathless kiss, gasping a little when he realizes he can taste himself in Peter’s mouth. 

“Wow,” he says. “That...wow.” 

“Yep.” Peter grins against his mouth, fills it with little kisses until Isaac catches his breath and his hand closes around Peter’s cock and Peter tilts his head back and moans.

“Can I?” Isaac’s eyes are huge and wide and blue, shy and questioning, and Peter wonders what he did to deserve this. 

“You can do whatever you want.”

Isaac’s hand works slowly up and down. “Even leave?”

“You don’t want to do that,” Peter says, in the shaky but sure tone of one who is stating a fact while someone else’s thumb is tracing the slit of their cock. 

“You’ve got me there,” Isaac admits, and he leans down and kisses Peter once more before moving down the bed to settle between his legs. He presses his nose against the root of Peter’s cock, just as Peter had done to him, inhales deep and then understands why. It’s intoxicating, the headiness of it, all the base notes of Peter and sex concentrated there, and he shivers. Peter misinterprets it, or maybe he doesn’t, and soothes his fingers through Isaac’s hair, lightly scratching up the back of his scalp. It somehow gives Isaac resolve, and he turns his head to lick the skin beside the place he just smelled. Peter hums, letting his hand fall away from Isaac’s head so he can move. 

Peter isn’t circumcised, and this, Isaac finds as he gently pulls back foreskin to taste the head of his cock, makes him breathtakingly sensitive. Peter’s nails, still blunt and human, scratch at the sheet as his fingers stretch and fist, and he lets out an unsteady noise, hips shifting beneath Isaac. “Okay?”

“God, yes.” Peter looks down the length of his torso at Isaac, his eyes glowing. “You’re fine.” Isaac ducks his head again, lapping gently once or twice before just deciding to go for it, closing his lips just beneath the corona of the head. Peter shudders and sighs, lets go of the sheets with one hand to run fingers over Isaac’s shoulder. 

He can’t take much in his mouth before his jaw starts to ache, especially not at first, but Peter doesn’t seem to mind, especially once Isaac lights upon the beautiful idea of varying the pressure of his mouth. It’s six kinds of rush when he can feel Peter start to tense and tremble, the way his hips arch up and how Isaac can actually feel him pulse against his tongue. He crawls up to lay beside Peter and immediately gets pulled into a kiss, lazy and sated and fierce all at once, Peter breathing hard through his nose over Isaac’s cheek. 

“Open your eyes,” Isaac says once they’ve settled into a comfortable tangle of limbs, and Peter does. Isaac brushes stray bits of his hair out of the way for an unadulterated view. “I’ve never seen them change for anything else.” 

“Never seen me angry. Which is the idea.” He traces the shell of Isaac’s ear with the tip of his finger. “I saw Nicolae shift maybe a dozen times in my whole life. He was an old man, though. My life won’t be that peaceful for awhile.”

“What was it like, growing up with all this?”

“Don’t really have much to compare it to, y’know. It’s always been me and Lynda. Never knew my dad, never really cared. We moved a lot, sometimes by ourselves, sometimes with family. Stayed with Nic a lot, as we could, and Dee lived near him. Her mom was his emissary. Pretty much always lived with other werewolves. It’s just...easier.”

“So, did you have like...werewolf training as a kid or something?” Isaac is aware that the question sounds ridiculous, but there’s not really another way to ask it.

“I think most people call it ‘playing’.” Peter smiles and kisses Isaac’s nose. “I learned real early that it wasn’t okay to get mad and claw my cousins or chew the furniture. It’s a funny thing, though. You know how to best discipline a baby werewolf?” 

“Nnnnnope. Never even seen one.” Isaac’s mouth twists skeptically.

“Cuddle ‘em.” 

Isaac looks completely incredulous, and Peter laughs and licks his nose. A short tussle ensues that ends with Isaac’s head pillowed on Peter’s shoulder. 

“I’m serious, though. Can’t yell, that’ll just scare them or make ‘em mad, which doesn’t help. So you cuddle them real good and tell them what they did wrong, nice and soft and calm.”

“That’s…” Isaac goes quiet, finding himself entirely at a loss. 

“Not how anybody does anything, I know.” 

“I was gonna say it sounds really nice.” Isaac draws idle patterns on Peter’s chest, and Peter leans down to kiss his forehead. 

“Yeah. I got my share of yelling and shit from outside the family, but not so much from inside. That’s how real wolves do it, y’know? The pups fuck up and mom just hauls them off by their scruff and licks them better.” Isaac makes a little sound of understanding and shifts, tucking his face into Peter’s neck so that Peter’s pulse beats soft against his forehead. “Anyway, it was just a part of everything, learning how to control it, and there were enough kids like Dee that I kinda learned how rough you could play with humans before I went to school. Which was another story entirely.” 

He pauses, rubs his rough cheek against Isaac’s, which is smooth in one direction and just slightly sandpapery in the other. “Nic died when I was thirteen, told you that much. He got sick hard and fast. Everybody else knew that it’d be me for a long time, probably, but it was news to me. Maybe I hadn’t wanted to see it. Not like the ritual is any big secret.”

“Ritual?” 

“Mm. He picked his day. Gets kind of ugly, toward the end, cancer and the healing, but he’d made his peace with it. Anyway, it was a few months after my thirteenth birthday, most of the family got together. Talk about performance anxiety.” He laughs a little, the sort of laughter at something that’s not exactly funny. “So everyone says what they’ve got to say, and I’m last, and we say what we’ve got to say, and he kisses my forehead, right between the eyebrows, and he says _Ah, Peter, you will have such broad shoulders. Now go ahead._ And then I did.” 

“Did?” Isaac isn’t sure, suddenly, whether he really wants the answer to that question. 

“Cut off his head. With a sword. And then I was an alpha. And boy, did I give everyone a headache.” Isaac isn’t sure what to say, so he lifts his head and looks at Peter, searching his face for some sort of clue. Peter just smiles at him, a little sad, and strokes his cheek with a thumb. “You’re sweet,” he murmurs.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Didn’t have to.” He doesn’t know what to say to that either, so he leans in and kisses Peter, catches his lower lip between his teeth and worries it until Peter chuckles. “I’m fine, you.” He nips for Isaac’s lip in turn, catches it and pretends to tug like a puppy, shaking his head back and forth before turning it into a kiss. “And I was a terror for most of the next year while we moved around and Dee did her level best to beat her lessons into me. It took eventually.”

“Moved around?” 

“Believe it or not,” Peter looks down at Isaac and flutters his eyes, “at thirteen I was not yet the gorgeous specimen of wolfmanity before you.” Isaac snorts. “I was a skinny little shit with some deeply unfortunate peach fuzz and a kick me sign on my back. Always been good at keeping my head down, and I’ve never liked fighting. Not sure I really understood anger until then.”

“So you were moving to keep you safe.” 

“To keep me from killing the kind of kids I’d been letting beat on me up till then while Dee and Lynda helped me get my head straight. So safe, yeah. But after I calmed my tits Lynda and I spent about two years living alone in Pittsburgh, and then Hemlock Grove, and now here.” He nuzzles Isaac’s nose. “And that is the story of Peter Rumancek, with a lot of notable details left out.” 

“Growing up werewolf.” Isaac grins, nips Peter’s nose and holds on.

“Growing up Rumancek,” he replies, and licks Isaac’s chin until he lets go, laughing.


	10. Chapter 10

“Harpies?” Scott blinks incredulously at Lydia. “Are you _kidding_ me?” 

“Nope.” Lydia folds her arms primly in front of her. “And as mythological bird-women go, you could be doing worse.” 

“Glad we’re not doing worse,” Scott mutters, flexing his previously harpy-mauled shoulder as Isaac slides onto the bench next to him. 

“Sorry,” he says, smiling apologetically, “what’d I miss about the monster of the week?”

“Harpies,” Lydia says, but Scott just keeps staring at Isaac, eyes narrowed. Then he grabs Isaac by the shoulder of his sweater and hauls him away from the table, eyes flashing. 

“What is this?” he hisses, “musical alphas? What do you think you’re doing? There’s monsters out there and we need to plan and you show up late _reeking_ of him.” Late by all of the first minute or two of Lydia’s talk, but late all the same.

“Scott, it’s not--he’s not--woah, calm down.” Scott’s claws are out, right there in the middle of lunch. He reaches out to put a hand on Scott’s shoulder, then thinks better of it. “Breathe, Scott. I can explain. It’s not like that, I don’t want another alpha, you’re my alpha.” He’s talking fast, too fast and too calm, but Scott’s barely listening anyway. The few sessions he’s had with Destiny have done something, though, because after a minute Scott pulls his claws back in and his eyes fade to their normal brown. 

“Explain,” he says, soft and even, clinging to his calm. 

Now that he has room to talk, Isaac isn’t exactly sure of what to say. “I already have an alpha. You were there when nobody else was, you think I’m just gonna forget that?” Scott just keeps quiet. “It’s not that he’s an alpha. It’s…” 

“It’s what? What do you want from him?” Scott sounds almost desperate to understand, for this to be some stupid misunderstanding, something that can be laughed off. “You want to study his jedi techniques? Mack on his cousin? If you don’t want a new alpha, then what?” 

Isaac takes a deep breath, shoulders hunching and then forcibly straightening as he makes himself hold his head up. Scott will know if he’s lying, so he doesn’t. “Boyfriend,” he says, “that’s what I want.” 

Scott stares for a moment, open-mouthed and incredulous. “Seriously, Isaac? _Seriously_? From my ex to another freaking alpha? God, I can’t even--” He shakes his head. “How am I supposed to trust you?”

“I don’t know.” Isaac swallows. “What do I have to do?” He feels small, taut with anxiety. The question echoes down a long tunnel, a seemingly endless chain of inevitable answers, the rattle of a padlock and chain, the angry beat of Scott’s pulse. “Tell me how to fix it, I’ll fix it.” He’s almost pleading.

“I don’t know, Isaac.” Scott shakes his head. “Maybe you can’t.” 

“Not to interrupt or anything,” Allison interrupts, startling them both, “but we kind of have a harpy problem, remember? Monsters? Attacked you last night, Scott? Ringing a bell?” 

“Right.” Scott doesn’t look at Isaac at all before he turns and heads back to the table. The seats have been not-so-subtly shuffled around, putting Isaac diagonally across the table from Scott, as far apart as they can be. 

“So,” Allison says, “do we want to bring him in on it?” She gestures over at Peter under his tree. He’s got his headphones on and he’s reading a magazine, but his head isn’t bobbing, and Isaac knows he’s listening. 

“No.” Scott sounds final about it.

“Um,” Lydia says, “why?”

“Because I don’t trust him.” 

“Are you seriously suggesting that he’s worse than Derek or Deucalion or, I don’t know, Peter Hale? Because you could kinda use some more manpower here.”

“Yes. No.” Scott sighs. “Look, how many times have we been burned before? Why should we trust him?” 

“He does kinda set off way fewer evil alarms,” Stiles points out, “what with the being real help and all.” 

“Destiny has been real help, you mean. What’s Peter actually done?” The table is silent. “Yeah, exactly.” Allison catches Isaac’s eyes, and her mouth tightens. “So no, we don’t bring him in.” 

“Right. Fine.” Lydia throws up her hands and rolls her eyes, and they get down to making a plan.

**

Herding harpies, it turns out, isn’t entirely dissimilar to herding werewolves, but herding them out into the nature preserve ends up being something of a mistake in that while it is far from humans, it also provides plenty of high roosts for the creatures to avoid Scott and Isaac. Their wings are fragile, though, and they soon work out a system wherein Allison renders them unable to fly and the boys take care of them on the ground. 

It also turns out that they underestimated the size of the flock. By a lot. 

“How are you looking for arrows?” They’re all three crouched and crowded into the mouth of a shallow cave, the remaining harpies in the trees above them, waiting. 

“Not great,” Allison admits. “Didn’t have time to collect them.” 

“I hear something out there,” Isaac whispers. “I think. On the ground.” 

“Damn.” Scott is about to peek his head out to check their situation when a screech goes up in the trees around them. There’s the thud of bodies landing on the ground, a scuffle, a growl and then the wet sound of tearing flesh. Then a very human silhouette with tangled hair appears in the cave mouth, and Isaac inhales a breath full of Peter and harpy blood. 

“Hi,” Peter says. “I brought a peace offering.” He shifts and awkwardly offers Allison some of her arrows. “That’s all I got before they noticed me.” 

“What are you doing here?” Scott growls the words out.

“Saving our asses, kinda looks like,” Allison points out. “Move, Peter, I need to check these and you’re blocking my light. No, _more_ into the cave,” she adds, in a tone that clearly communicates that boys are dumb and their stupid wolf business is getting old. Peter obediently crowds in next to Isaac. “You didn’t happen to come with a plan, did you?” she asks as she examines each of the retrieved arrows in turn. Peter shrugs. “Didn’t think so. Okay, here’s the plan. One of you is going to play bait, the other two are going to take down what I shoot from behind. Good? Good.” 

“I’ll be the bait,” Scott says, already preparing to climb out of the cave. He’s stopped by Isaac catching his arm. 

“No,” he says, “Peter will.” Peter, having not been consulted at all about this turn of events, blinks and then shrugs. “Because I’m staying with you.” Scott looks at Isaac, at the hand wrapped around his wrist, and at Peter. Isaac only looks at Scott. Then Scott relaxes, eases back into hiding when Isaac tugs again.

“Okay,” Peter says, shifting around until he’s gotten himself into a good crouch. He’s not wearing any shoes, although thankfully his feet look perfectly normal in the moonlight. Isaac finds himself wondering about the footwear choices of born werewolves. “You tell me when.” 

There isn’t enough room in the cave for Allison to pull her bow, so she spends a moment arranging herself as well. Peter reaches back in the dark, finds Isaac’s fingers and squeezes them. “Okay,” Allison says, “let’s go.” 

Peter doesn’t run immediately. What he does instead is leap out of the cave and hit one of the trees the monsters are roosting in, hard enough that it shakes and crackles, then looks up and growls. The sound of it vibrates in Isaac’s ribs, thrills up his spine, and next to him he feels Scott shudder too. It’s terrifying and sexy as hell, but it doesn’t give him the same rush that he gets when Scott roars, the strength of _pack_. It just makes him want to shove Peter up against a tree when this is all finished. Peter growls again, the harpies scream and he glances back at Allison, eyes glowing and fangs pushing his mouth open, claws extended but hands relaxed at his sides. She nods, and then he runs, loping off into the woods. Isaac and Scott can feel the rush of the air from their wings, can hear the crisp twang of Allison’s bow followed by sharper screaming and the thud of falling bodies.

“That’s our cue,” Isaac says, grinning at Scott. 

“Action,” Scott answers, and they leap into the fray.

When Peter finally comes jogging back to the cave, Allison is in the midst of recovering her arrows and Isaac and Scott are debating whose undershirt is getting sacrificed to clean enough of their blood off that Scott’s mom won’t freak out. He looks like he went rolling in the dirt, although when he gets closer it becomes obvious that his hair is wet and his flannel shirt is damp.

“Were you running or wrestling them, Peter?” Allison sets her boot on a harpy and pulls another arrow free. 

“Little bit of column A, little bit of column B.” He rolls his shoulders. “There’s a creek over that way if you want to wash off.” Isaac looks to Scott, who and nods in that direction, and Isaac goes. Scott stands, wincing, and Peter takes a step back, points back over his shoulder. “I’m just gonna--” 

“Wait,” Scott says, so Peter waits. “I should thank you.” 

“You’d have gotten out, or waited it out till daylight.” 

“Not about that.” Scott shakes his head. “You listened to Isaac. And Allison.” 

“Well, yeah.” Peter furrows his eyebrows. “They were the ones with plans.” Scott blinks at him, and Peter scratches under one side of his chin. “This isn’t my territory, it isn’t my show. I’m not the guy who makes the plans here. You’re the team. I keep saying that.” 

Scott sighs. “Well, maybe now I’m listening.” He extends his hand, dirty and bloody, and Peter takes it, smiles crookedly. “And if you break his heart I’ll break your ribs.” 

“Ah,” says Peter, with a real grin, “there it is. You’ll have to get in line behind Miss Pointy Things.”

“Why are we beating on Peter?” Isaac’s hair and shirt are wet, clinging to his skin, and Peter looks fixedly just to the left of his head instead of straight at him. 

“They’re prepared to defend your honor, princess.” Peter drawls, as though an alpha and a hunter isn’t actually quite the honor guard.

“My heroes.” Isaac flutters his lashes and Peter looks away, because that is incredibly unfair. “Seriously though.” 

“Seriously,” Scott says, and when Isaac looks at him he nods. “Put on your sweater, you’re turning blue.” 

“Yes, mom.” Isaac is cold, though, so he does.

“Okay,” Allison says, “Peter, do you need a ride home or did you drive?” 

Peter’s eyes dart between the other three, like this is a trick question. “I...ran.” 

“Oh my god, car, all of you. Now.” Allison points, and they march.

“Shotgun,” Scott says, and behind him Peter catches Isaac’s hand and tangles their fingers.


	11. Chapter 11

The next day at lunch, Peter is just about to get comfortable underneath his usual tree when Scott gestures for him to come over. There’s not really enough room for another person at the table, so Peter ends up sort of half on the bench, his other leg braced to the side and his thigh pressed firmly against Isaac’s, but they’re both pretty okay with that. While Scott and Allison fill Stiles and Lydia in on the previous evening’s events Peter stays quiet, to the point it’s almost as though he’s not really there except for the warmth of a body beside Isaac and the hand on his leg beneath the table. 

“So,” Lydia says when they’re finished, “does all this mean we can stop pretending they’re not boyfriends now?” Stiles chokes on his soda, and Peter drops his head onto the table with a thud that sounds like it might actually have hurt. 

“That’s a thing we were pretending?” Stiles splutters. “When were we pretending this? Did I miss a memo?” Lydia and Allison exchange a significant look. Isaac looks at Scott, who gives a half-shrug.

Isaac puts his head down on the table next to Peter’s, and Peter opens an eye. “So,” he murmurs, “can they?” His eyes are very blue, and he’s smiling but there’s fear there too. Beneath the table, Peter fumbles for his hand. 

It's impossible not to think of Letha. _You should know I'm not any good at being a boyfriend._ But he'd kept her safe from the things he could protect her from. He couldn't protect her from the follies of the universe, the hidden inner fragilities of the body. But then, neither could anybody. Death was like that. Sometimes it wasn’t anything you could save someone from. They’d loved each other the best anybody could, and if anyone understood the need to love something strange and fragile and beautiful, to cradle it carefully in your palms, it was Letha. She would approve. He needs to believe that. 

“Yeah,” Peter says, “pretty sure they can.” 

“Oh, good.” She taps the table in front of Peter’s head, which he refuses to raise to look at her. “Because it’s cute how you tried, but you two are really not subtle.” 

“Says you,” Scott and Stiles say at the same time, and Lydia rolls her eyes. 

“Boys.” Peter raises his head, points at Lydia like he’s about to say something, then closes his mouth again and shakes his head. “Ooh, maybe they can learn.” Peter has the distinct feeling that he is going to deeply regret introducing his cousin to these girls. 

“Right, so now that harpies and, er,” Stiles clears his throat and prepares his air quotes, “ _romantic entanglements_ have been cleared up, what’s on the agenda?” 

“Destiny,” Peter says, and everyone turns to look at him. “My cousin, not the mystical concept. You guys need to straighten your head shit out.” He shrugs. “Whatever happens next is gonna come to you, that’s the thing that’s here.” 

“Scruffy has a point,” Stiles allows. 

“Nicknames, really?” Peter sets his chin on his hand with a sigh.

“The last werewolf Peter was kind of a massive dick, so maybe, yeah.” 

“ _Hales_ ,” Peter says, waving a hand. “How do they make everything harder?” Lydia reaches across the table to gingerly brave his uncombed hair for the sake of patting his head.

“Our feelings exactly,” she says.

**

After school, Isaac finds Peter at his locker, wraps arms around his waist from behind as Peter finishes putting textbooks into his bag. “Hey,” he says, once Peter has finished tilting his head back for a kiss. 

“Hey.” Peter lets his bag drop next to his feet and turns around in Isaac’s arms, bringing their foreheads together. “What’s up?” Isaac tilts his head so that their noses bump, so that they’re just breathing the same air for a moment. He hesitates.

“I should really--”

“Go home with Scott,” Peter says, smiling. “Yep. Go.” 

“I just--” Before he can finish, Peter cuts him off with a kiss, just a gentle press of mouths. He doesn’t want Isaac to say it, wants the choice to stay as nice and clear as it should be.

“Isaac. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Which seems like far too long, but neither of them says that either because it’s silly, it’s ridiculous, regardless of how much it feels like truth. The truth of the matter is that they _are_ moony high schoolers, but that doesn’t mean it needs admitting. “Scott needs you around and Dee wants to talk to me, anyway.” 

“Okay.” Isaac starts to pull away and then stops. “About what?” 

“Nothing about here.” He smiles and shakes his head. “Get going before you miss your ride.” Isaac makes a face, kisses Peter again, and half-runs out after Scott.

It’s been awhile since they’ve both gone home after school at the same time, but the familiar routine is still there to fill in the gaps, and they end up in Scott’s room with soda and snacks, talking lacrosse prospects and homework and Kira.

“Do you really like her?” Isaac asks, and Scott’s smile goes even more doofily crooked than usual. “Okay, yeah, you really like her.” 

“Really really,” Scott agrees. “She’s just… _yeah_.” 

“Yeah,” Isaac agrees. He’s always thought the way that Scott’s eyes more or less literally turned into little hearts over girls was endearing but ridiculous, cute but saccharine, unreal. Nobody could possibly have all these teen drama feelings for real. Now, he looks at Scott and something behind his ribs pulls gently, and suddenly he understands a little too well how someone can be _just...yeah_. “You asked her out yet?” 

“Not yet. Stiles kinda pointed out that I probably shouldn’t hook up with her until we figure out whether she’s going to try to kill us all accidentally or on purpose.”

Isaac flinches. “Good point.”

“That and I haven’t figured out how, y’know? It should be special.” 

“Yeaaaaah, can’t really help you on that one.” Isaac’s not sure if it even counts as anybody asking anybody when Lydia announces your unconfirmed and previously secret-ish relationship at the lunch table. 

“Guess not.” Scott’s brow furrows a little, and he grabs a handful of popcorn. 

“Hey,” Isaac says, and Scott looks up. “Are you actually okay with...all that? With Peter and me?” 

There’s a pause, and Isaac finds himself holding his breath. “I guess. I mean, it’s not really my decision who you like, right? Even if it is another alpha who just rolled into town suddenly and is a hell of a lot better at this than me--”

“Woah.” Isaac puts a hand on Scott’s arm. “Hey, it’s not--”

“Yeah, I know. You told me.” Scott sighs and looks away, but he doesn’t try to take his arm back. 

“And I meant it. Peter’s had like his whole life to figure this out, and teachers and stuff. You became an alpha on your own.” Isaac swallows and looks at Scott. “Just because of who you are.” 

Scott’s mouth turns into a thoughtful frown. “Yeah,” he says, “I did, didn’t I.” 

“You did,” Isaac agrees. “And after Derek...well, whatever, you didn’t have to help me, and you did.” He squeezes Scott’s arm. “Which was a first.” His eyes cut down. It probably wasn’t even that big a deal for Scott. “I’m not gonna forget it.” 

“Yeah.” Scott’s quiet a moment. “And I want you to be happy, I do. I just thought...you left Derek--”

“All Derek wanted was power.” Isaac’s answer is quick, but quiet, not near as bitter as he has a right to be. “He used us, and--” _and now Erica and Boyd are dead._ But he doesn’t finish that thought. “And when he fucked it up, he kicked me out and bailed on all of us. That’s not you.”

“Okay,” says Scott, digesting this confession, putting it into his mind from Isaac’s perspective. “And then Allison…”

“Uh, look at Allison, man. She’s…” Isaac shrugs and shuts his mouth before he says something regrettable. “She also kinda stabbed me. Twenty times. With ring daggers. Not exactly long term relationship potential.” Scott can’t help but laugh a little at that. “So that kinda sorted itself out now.” Not that falling for another alpha was exactly the most reassuring thing he could have done, but Scott has a very limited supply of ammunition on the ‘smart choices in crushes’ department. He sighs. 

“Okay. I was just afraid…”

“Well,” Isaac says, looking up at him with a crooked little smile, “stop. You’re Scott McCall, True Alpha and resident Hot Girl. Why would I want to be in anybody else’s pack?”

Scott laughs. “True alpha _and_ hot girl. Right, got it.” 

“Good.” Isaac lets go of Scott’s arm to shove his shoulder, and Scott tosses a piece of popcorn at his head.

**

Destiny is waiting on the couch when Peter gets home. “I picked you up some new sheets,” she says, and he drops his bag and heads for the kitchen without replying. “Bring the bottle of red back with you.” So he does, a bottle of ginger beer in the other hand. She holds out her glass and he refills it. 

“It was just one nightmare, Destiny.” 

“It was a perfectly good mattress, Peter.” 

“It’s fine flipped over.”

“Peter.” 

“I don’t want to do this.” 

“Do I look like I give a flying rat’s ass?” Her hand on his shoulder stops him from standing, but she can feel the moment when it almost doesn’t. “ _Peter_. How long are you going to let this go? You can’t be a child about it forever.” 

Peter sits tense and sullen beneath her hand, and Destiny lets the time stretch. Peter doesn’t give before Peter is ready to give, and it’s hardly her first go-round with that. “I’m not being a child about it,” he murmurs. Destiny’s face falls, and she makes a little sound.

“You _are_ a child.” She pulls him into a hug and Peter doesn’t resist, doesn’t move at all and just lets her tip him over. “As your mother is so fond of saying, you’re still just a baby. Sometimes I forget.” She takes a breath. “But you’ve got to let them go.” 

“I know she’s gone.” The words are muffled because she’s pressed his face to her shoulder. “I’m not holding on. To either of them. It’s just...”

“Hard. It is. You’ve never had the kind of people who are hard to walk away from.” Peter doesn’t respond. “He’s good for you, though.” _Better than the upir was_ is what she means, but that’s not a new story. Destiny and Lynda had accepted his choice and embraced Roman, but that didn’t mean they agreed with it. Letha had always been sweet and simple, at the heart of it, but Roman was a murky, complex thing from the first time Peter had laid eyes on him. He misses Roman the way someone sober misses a fix: wanting at war with the full knowledge that there’s nothing left down that path that won’t hurt him in the end, now that the light that loved them both has gone out. Isaac isn’t either of those things, is both and neither and something all his own, a magnet and not a flame. “I know what you carry around in your pocket, honey. Give it to me.” Peter shudders and shakes his head. He pulls away, retreats to the other end of the couch, watching Destiny from beneath wary brows, as though she could physically take something from him that he didn’t allow to be taken. Destiny is the only human that Peter ever forgets is only that.

“Too far, Dee.” 

“You are a stubborn little…” she runs a hand through her hair. “Fine. Keep it. Bottom line, you can’t lose your shit or run off like that whenever he’s in danger, and you can’t keep tearing up my furniture. Now do you want to work it out or not?” 

Peter stares at her for a long time, sullen, knees pulled up under his chin. Destiny sips her wine and waits him out. Sometimes Peter seems far older than his years, other times he’s precisely and tiresomely exactly his age. “Fine.” 

“Okay then.” She folds her legs into a lotus, waits for him to do the same, and holds out her hands. He takes them.


	12. Chapter 12

“Smoke?” They’re walking home from school in a murky rain, crowded together beneath a single slightly-too-small umbrella and Isaac’s in a mood that’s probably related to the fact that he had two tests and a pop quiz and now there’s an English project to do as well. The silver lining on that one is that he’s got a reason to work with Peter again, and the downside is that Peter hasn’t actually read any of the books that they get to choose from. 

“Yeah, sure.” Peter produces his cigarettes, flips the top and pulls one out with one hand, his other being occupied by the umbrella. “Ah, lighter’s in my right pocket.” Isaac reaches around Peter’s back with a little chuckle, fingers slipping into his pocket to root around. They close on his lighter, and then pause, and Peter knows what he’s found before Isaac pulls it out. 

“What’s this?” He holds up the plastic ring, squints at it. “Hey, it’s that snake thing you were painting in art.” 

“Yeah. An ouroboros.” Peter pauses, swallows, puts the cigarette between his lips and waggles his fingers at it to indicate that Isaac should employ the lighter. “It’s supposed to be good luck.” 

“Oh.” Isaac slips it halfway onto his index finger so he doesn’t drop it and flicks the lighter. For a heartbeat, Peter doesn’t inhale, and then he does. “It’s a ring, right?” He holds up his hand. “So why not wear it?” 

“It’s not mine.” Isaac gives him a confused look, and Peter takes another long drag on the cigarette before offering it. “Can I have it back?” 

“Yeah, sure.” He sticks his finger out and Peter pulls the ring free, sticks it back in his pocket. “Whose is it?” He exhales smoke through his nose. 

“Nobody’s, anymore.” A pause. “It’s just a cracker-jack toy. I gave it to a girl, and then she was my girlfriend, and then she died.” He shrugs. “It’s not a secret. Dee or Lynda could tell you the story.” 

Isaac puts his arm back around Peter, this time heavy on his shoulders. “But not you?” 

“Not me,” Peter agrees. He stops walking, turns to look at Isaac. “It’s--”

The hand around Peter’s shoulder tugs his hair, just enough to tip his head up so Isaac can kiss him. “Shut up. I get it.” There are plenty of people he’s not inclined to talk about either.

“Okay.” Peter kisses him again, quick and hard, and neatly snatches the cigarette from his fingers. “You’re not a rebound,” he says after a moment, the words coming out smoky. 

“I believe you.” Peter glances over. “Pretty sure that Dee wouldn’t have ever mentioned your massive boner for me if she thought that’s what you were doing. Those ladies have your number, man.” 

Peter winces. “Can we not talk about Dee and my dick in the same sentence?”

“Depends.” Isaac steals the cigarette back. “What’re you gonna do with it instead?” 

Laughing, Peter switches which hand he’s holding the umbrella with to reach back and pinch Isaac’s ass, laughing more when he gives a satisfying little yelp. “Get you out of those wet clothes and show you, seems like.” 

“Then move your ass, my jeans are getting soaked.” Isaac only half regrets his choice of words when he has to spend the rest of the walk with Peter’s hand in his back pocket.

Peter makes good on his promise to undress Isaac, but somehow they end up curled together under his blankets, legs tangled and foreheads resting against each other, listening to the rain on the window and the fire escape. 

“I could just spend the rest of my life lying in bed with you,” Isaac murmurs, and Peter smiles.

“That would be an excellent life.” His fingers trace Isaac’s cheekbone back to the curve of his ear and then down to the line of his jaw, marble-shadowed in the cloudy afternoon light. “God, how are you even real?” 

“Well, when a man and a woman love each other very much…” Peter flicks his earlobe, and Isaac laughs, rubbing their noses together. “Lucky genes, I guess.” He brushes Peter’s hair back behind his ear. “You aren’t doing so bad yourself.” 

“Obviously a sexy man-beast.” Peter pretends to growl, a warm and pale imitation of the sound he’d made a few nights previous that still makes Isaac shiver. 

“That was hot as hell, you know. The growling.” Peter raises an eyebrow. “No, I’m serious. It’s just like...not the pack thing, y’know? Just… _damn_.” 

“What, like this?” Peter’s lips brush up against Isaac’s ear as he breathes out a sound that almost reminds Isaac of a cat’s purr, soft and low and almost comforting, except for how it sends sparks across his scalp and down his spine all the way to his toes and all of his blood straight to his cock.

“Oh my _god_.” Peter chuckles in his ear, which is only slightly less sexy, and shifts closer, arching his back so that his hips and belly rub against Isaac’s. Isaac wraps a leg around his hip, and Peter makes an approving sound. “Do it again.” 

“Bossy,” he says, but he does, rocking his hips into Isaac’s shivers. “You can do that too, y’know.” 

“I can?” 

“You can make any noise I can make, just takes practice.” Isaac tries, ends up making a strange gargling noise that makes Peter laugh and kiss him. The embarrassment and selection of odd sounds is worth it, though, for the way that Peter’s eyes flutter and his cock jumps when Isaac finally gets it, keeps it up until Peter’s toes curl. 

“You’ve created a monster,” he informs Peter, grinning wickedly, and Peter just chuckles and presses his ear to Isaac’s mouth. “Hey, you aren’t supposed to like it that much.” 

“Sorry for finding you incredibly sexy.” 

“...okay, point.” Isaac presses his mouth to Peter’s neck, feels more than hears Peter make a little noise as he tilts his head back. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, and it’s only then that Isaac realizes his lips have parted, that the flat of his teeth rests against Peter’s pulse. “Do it.” Isaac hesitates--what does it _mean_ , to do something like that to someone like Peter?--but one of Peter’s hands slides up Isaac’s slide, over his shoulder to the nape of his neck, cradles the back of his head and presses just the smallest amount, just with his fingertips. That’s more than permission, it’s practically a request. 

Isaac bites. 

Peter gasps, soft and surprised, arching into Isaac as his head falls back. Isaac licks the place he bit, feels the indent of his teeth there in Peter’s skin. Peter’s fingers tighten in his hair so he does it again, and this time Peter moans so Isaac lets his teeth scrape, bites and sucks at Peter’s skin until it tastes sweeter against his tongue. Peter just shivers, his breath fast but not panicked, edged with little wanting sounds, and Isaac can feel his heart pound against his teeth. 

“Look,” he whispers, when Isaac pauses, and Isaac does, sees the vivid wine-purple mark on Peter’s throat, the embossed rings of toothmarks in his skin. He looks, watches as their healing factor draws the blood away, heals broken capillaries. In the space of a minute, maybe two, no more trace remains except for Peter’s slowing pulse and the memory of the give of his skin beneath Isaac’s teeth. 

“What--Peter-” It felt good, it _feels_ good, he likes the idea that he marked Peter, that Peter liked being marked. It rushes through his veins, this idea that an alpha--not his alpha, but an alpha all the same--had just bared his throat and let Isaac dig his teeth in. It feels good and it scares him, a little, how good it feels. “Did I hurt you?” 

Peter shakes his head, wraps his arms around Isaac’s waist and kisses him, covers his mouth with the gentlest little brushes of his mouth until Isaac’s disquiet gives over to amusement at the teasing. He catches Peter’s lower lip between his teeth and tugs until Peter kisses him hard enough to make his lips feel flushed and bruised. “I like it,” he says when the need for air becomes too pressing, picking up their conversation where they’d left it. “And you, I guess.” 

“You guess?” Isaac can’t decide whether to laugh or sound scandalized, and the words come out with a squeak. 

“I guess.” Peter lets his body slide against Isaac’s in a way that makes them both suck in a breath. “But,” he adds, “I’m a pretty good guesser.” 

“Well.” Isaac sounds surprisingly mollified, and his fingers slide into the tangle of Peter’s hair, combing it smooth. “I like it too. And you.” 

“Glad we’ve worked that out,” Peter says, smiling. “No hands?”

Isaac huffs a little laugh. “You’re on,” he says, lacing their fingers, and they find out they don’t really need them anyway.

***

Destiny knocks on the door near sunset, when they’re still naked and half-dozing, tangled up in each other instead of doing homework. She tells them that she expects Isaac downstairs in fifteen minutes and that Peter is helping Lynda with dinner, accepting the stereo groan she receives in answer as an acknowledgment. They make it out in fourteen, still slow and sleepy, and Isaac stumbles down the stairs. 

“Get comfy, sweetie.” Destiny has a pile of pillowy cushions to sit on, and Isaac picks the one that smells most like Peter because, he tells himself, it’s on the top of the pile anyway. She settles herself, and then looks at him. “Oh, you’ve got a question, huh. Go ahead.” 

“Um.” Sometimes Destiny makes it easier by just saying things so they don’t need to be brought up. Sometimes it’s harder because then they can’t be dodged or eased into. He’s not sure which one this is, exactly. “The snake ring. Peter said it belonged to a girl.” Destiny smiles sadly. 

“Letha.” She nods. “You have to understand something about Peter. Before Hemlock Grove, he’d never had a real friend before.” Isaac’s brow furrows. “He’s not quite what you think, really. He was always quiet, always wandering off by himself. Made faces but let the little ones braid his hair, long as nobody was looking. Loved horror movies, even though they gave him nightmares, cried at any movie where the dog died. That’s probably why Nicolae picked him.”

“Because he cried about movies?” Isaac raises an eyebrow.

“Because pretty much anybody who wants to be an alpha is the last person who should be.” Isaac thinks of Derek, of Peter Hale, and supposes she has a point. “Anyway, I don’t think he knew he was lonely. I don’t think he knew what lonely was until he met Roman Godfrey, who is about the loneliest bastard around. They just…” She snaps her fingers. Clicked. “And Roman’s cousin, Letha, pretty sure she just woke up one morning and decided on Peter, because one day she wasn’t there and the next she was. Crazy girl.” Destiny shakes her head. “She swore up and down she was knocked up by an angel. I think Peter figured what the hell did it matter whose baby it was besides hers, y’know?”

“Actually, that sounds pretty damn weird.” 

Destiny laughs. “Oh, it’s pretty damn weird, but true or not, state your case on how it’s weirder than anything that’s happened to you and your friends.” Isaac remains silent. “Right. And you guys have not yet even begun to weird. Anyway.” She claps her palms against her thighs, “the long and short of it is that she was the first girl he ever really loved, and maybe that was the first time Peter ever really thought about the future, about stopping for a while. She died in childbirth.”

The story just ends, and the silence slaps Isaac across the face. This isn’t what he expected to hear, somehow. There’s no battle, no enemy, no sacrifice, no mistake. “Oh.” She reaches out and pats his knee. 

“Sometimes the hardest thing to take is the knowledge that there was nothing you could have done.” They sit in silence while he digests that truth. How would it have been if...anyone, really, had died that way, of something that nobody did, that wasn’t anyone’s fault? If there was nobody to be mad at and nothing to fight?

“And then they...left?” 

“Yep. That was April. I came straight out here, they took their time. He needed time to be ready.”

“Ready?”

She gives him a rather pointed look, eyebrows raised. Isaac shifts uncomfortably on his cushion, only just resisting the urge to scoff. Scoffing never goes over well with Destiny. “No pressure or anything there, Dee.” 

“Isaac.” She waits till he looks up from staring at his toes. “You passed muster two minutes after I met you. Even when you think you’re not, you’re doing fine.” 

“What’s that even supposed to mean?” He scowls, arms crossing in front of his chest. He’d asked about Peter’s dead girlfriend, not for a pep talk. Pep talks are, in fact, the exact opposite of what one is supposed to get from one’s boyfriend’s parents, as far as Isaac’s limited and mostly second-hand experience has indicated. He’s moderately sure that most people’s parents would not be quite so chill about the amount of sex that Peter’s family has to be aware that they’re having, much less anything else.

“It means we like you, and dinner’s ready,” Lynda calls down the stairs.

Then again, the Rumanceks are really, really weird. And kind of embarrassing, if Isaac is honest, although not always in the worst way. “ _Ma_ ,” Peter says from the kitchen, exasperated. 

“Well,” Lynda says, “it’s not like all the feeding him didn’t make it obvious.” Isaac gets upstairs just in time to witness Peter’s _mother, you are embarrassing me_ eyeroll. There’s something about watching the Rumanceks that’s like watching Scott and his mother, a sense of warmth that Isaac only remembers for himself in the most dreamlike of ways. Melissa McCall is wonderful, is kind and generous and more or less a saint for taking him in, but she has never tried to be his parent. Isaac is grateful for it, honestly, has no idea how he would navigate the awkwardness of being mothered by the mother of his alpha, especially after so long not being mothered at all. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t _really_ live there, because there’s no obligation, but as Lynda gently swats him toward the table after he spends too long standing staring by the couch, Isaac finds himself wondering if he hasn’t somehow been tricked into something like a family.


	13. Chapter 13

Peter shuts his locker to find himself face to face with a matched set of blond omegas, arms crossed over muscled chests. “Not interested,” he says. “One hundred fucking percent uninterested.” 

“Hey,” one of them says, “you haven’t even heard us out.” 

“Are you really doing this?” Peter tucks his hair behind his ear, shoulders his backpack.

“We know who you are.” As his eyes flicker glowing blue, Peter silently labels him the mouthy one. 

“Bully for you.” He tries to walk away, finds himself impeded by a wall of muscle. 

“And you know we could be useful.” The one standing slightly behind the other must be the smarter one. “We could help you. We could help them.” 

“Not near as much it would help you.” He tries to step forward again. “If you know who I am, why are you even asking?” He’s just about to put his shoulder to Mouthy’s chest to push past when there’s a hand on Smarter’s shoulder.

“Ethan, Aiden, lay off him, huh?” Scott doesn’t have to pull hard to get them to back up and head down the hall. “Sorry about them,” Scott says, and Peter shrugs and sticks his hands into his jacket pockets, gives Scott a little smile in thanks. 

“Nah, don’t worry about it. Hardly the first bullies in the world.” Peter’s just taller than Scott, but there’s something about the way he holds himself that makes him look smaller, skinnier than Scott’s gym- and lacrosse-toned stature. Peter’s pretty okay with that. It strikes him as a bit too obvious, trying to be the strongest-looking guy in the room. And if it earns him unnecessary but well-timed rescues, that’s a bonus. “So what’s up?” 

Scott looks down, practically scuffs a shoe as they walk. “Awhile back, you said that there’s a lot we don’t know.” 

“Oh yeah,” Peter agrees amicably, “there is.” He considers making Scott actually ask, then decides against it. “Where do you want to start? History? Pack? Physical abilities?” 

“Um…”

“I can only tell you my family’s way, mind.” He glances over at Scott. “It’s not what you’d get elsewhere.” 

Scott hesitates. “You’re kinda what’s available, if you haven’t noticed.” 

“I noticed.” Peter shrugs. “Some people feel obligated to the people who bit them, no matter how things pan out.” 

“I was never with them,” Scott says after a moment, thinking of Isaac, “and they left us.” 

“We’ll start with history. You can come over after dinner. Whoever in your pack wants to know.” 

Destiny decides that she’ll allow them upstairs this time, which means that they’re treated to the spectacle of a bunch of teenagers expecting the same sort of kitschy aesthetic of Destiny’s shop up in her home attempting to restrain their expressions of surprise upon finding a cozy, modern apartment. Peter and Isaac occupy one third of the couch, with Lynda in the middle and Destiny to the other side, leaving an easy chair and a few cushions from downstairs for the incoming crowd, the coffee table pushed aside. When Scott arrives, Isaac slips off the couch to the floor, sitting next to Scott and leaning lightly back against Peter’s knee. Lynda, in her way, makes sure that everyone has something to drink before anybody starts talking in earnest.

“Okay,” Peter says once everyone is settled, “this is my mom, Lynda. Her father was Nicolae Rumancek, who was the family alpha before me.”

“But it’s not only our family history that’s really important here.” Lynda smiles and pats Peter’s arm, and everyone but Isaac exchanges looks. “It’s werewolf history. Which Miss Argent knows a bit about, I’d wager.” Allison nods. 

Lynda tells them the basics, about packs and families, tells them third-hand stories about coming over from the old country and finding brethren already here. She explains how alphas rise and fall, about succession and death, about children born werewolves. She tells them about hunters, the Argents and those like them, about why they’re necessary and where they aren’t, about how Nicolae made a pact with, as it turned out, Allison’s grandmother, to keep his family safe.

“A new pack like yours, you never got raised in it. And those Hale boys didn’t much take after their mother, I guess, because they didn’t really teach your boys a blessed thing about what they are now.” She shakes her head. “It’s a rare thing to bring anyone new into our pack, but we have rules about it. By our figuring, the newly bitten are like children, and you always, always love and protect the children.” 

“But we aren’t children,” Scott says, brow furrowed. 

“Trust me,” Isaac murmurs, “it is so not worth the argument. Peter’s still a baby too.” Peter snorts. 

“Call it a metaphor,” he says. “Nobody expects a pup to do the hunting. They watch and learn and practice first. Some of it’s instinct, sure, but having a guide doesn’t hurt.”

Scott thinks back to that night in the woods. “Peter--Peter Hale--kinda just bit and ran. I didn’t even know what was happening to me. Stiles figured it out.” 

“I got a choice,” Isaac volunteers. “I mean, Derek might’ve left a few things out, but I had a choice.” 

Lynda’s face twists into an expression of genuine disapproval, which Isaac was beginning to think was beyond her making. “So you two were alone on your first full moons?” 

“Stiles tried to cuff me to a radiator?” 

“Derek chained me up?” 

“Lynda, do we have to?” Peter’s tone is soft, but the words cut. He doesn’t want to hear this, it’s there in his voice. 

“Of course, sweetie.” She shakes her head. “Maybe that’s their way,” she says, “but there are other ways.” She rubs her hands along her thighs. “But it’s a bit late for that now, isn’t it? There’s only moving forward.” Peter exhales a quiet breath.

“Anyway,” he picks up where his mother left off, “you all know about anchors. The things that remind us that we’re human. Vital. The place we differ from the Hales--”

“And,” Destiny adds, “a lot of other packs, let’s be honest.”

“Right, that.” Peter looks across his mother at Destiny. “Would you like to talk instead?” 

“Nope, I’m good.” Peter rolls his eyes where he’s sure Destiny can see, and she reaches across Lynda to nudge his shoulder. 

“Anyway, that. We don’t treat the wolf as a beast. It’s not a monster unless you treat it like one.”

“Yeah,” Scott says, in the tone that means _no_ , “I beg to differ.” 

“Maybe it’s different, getting it so late. And being an alpha...that’s something else.” He shrugs. “You can train it, though. Work with it until it’s part of you, until the wolf wants the same things you want.”

“Like training a dog,” Lydia says, slowly.

“Kind of. If you are also the dog, which is tapped into all the base desires the conscious mind likes to pretend it doesn’t have,” Destiny puts in. 

“Freud has been basically completely discredited, you know.” 

“Honey, I’m not talking wanting to fuck your mother or whatever other bullshit.” 

“Dee.” Peter’s tone is soft and warning, and Destiny settles back on the couch.

“The wolf is simple,” he says. “It wants food, shelter, safety…”

“Sex,” Lynda adds.

“Sex,” Peter agrees amicably, without any evidence of embarrassment. The Rumanceks are more or less alone in that. “Sometimes those desires get crossed. Mix the desires for food and safety with an animal that doesn’t understand its own territory and the influence of the moon…”

“And you get a bloodbath.”

“Bingo.” Peter cocks a finger at Allison. “But you learn, and so does the wolf. It learns who is pack and who’s a threat, it learns that people aren’t food, it learns good scents from bad, it learns that the human mind is better for thinking. But the harder you push it back, the more it learns when _it_ can push back, when it can break out. If you use those sides together, then it stops being so much two things and starts being one thing.” 

“It’s easier for a born werewolf,” Lynda says gently, “because we’ve never really been without it.” Peter nods his agreement. 

“But we can still learn,” Isaac says, and it sounds like a question.

“Of course you can, sweetheart. You’ve been learning on your own. We can just speed things up a bit. And Destiny can get your friends started learning other things, if they’re interested.”

“What kind of things?” Scott and Allison ask at the same time, then shrink back, not looking at each other. 

“Emissary things, more or less,” Peter says with a shrug. “Always good to have someone on your side that knows the difference between graphite and mountain ash before anyone gets their fingers burnt off.” 

**

It becomes a semi-official thing for Isaac to have dinner with the Rumanceks a few times a week. Semi-official because, ever practical, Lynda called Melissa McCall one day after school started and had a nice long chat about their boys. Between explaining who she was and some commiserating on the difficulties of raising werewolf teenagers, it became clear that the McCall food budget wouldn’t mind a little relief and the Rumancek one could certainly be stretched to accommodate, since they more or less were anyway. They also arranged to meet weekly for coffee to continue said commiseration and because Lynda believes firmly in having friends in the proverbial neighborhood.

The more Isaac is around, the more he feels as though he’s become a natural part of the setting that’s not worthy of special note. Lynda and Destiny treat him more like they treat Peter, making him do the dishes, fussing about how he just leaves his shoes in a pile with Peter’s by the door, randomly brushing a hand through his hair as they pass. One day when they come back in from smoking, Isaac finds a toothbrush labeled with his name in the holder, and Destiny only smirks at him when he comes out of the bathroom blushing bright pink. 

One of the more notable developments is that they’ve started watching TV. Destiny seems to especially enjoy reality TV, and while Peter is washing dishes, Isaac passes by the couch to find her absorbed in a show about wedding dresses. 

“Hey,” he says, “I love this show.” The words are out of his mouth before he thinks them through, and he bites his lip, but Destiny only grins and pats the couch beside her. By the time Peter wanders in, they’re deep in conversation about A-lines and ball gowns, debating the merits of lace versus beading, and all other manner of things that fly straight over his head. He sits down, and Isaac’s sentence sort of wobbles to a stop as he looks over, suddenly shy. What is Peter going to think about him discussing wedding dresses?

“I have no idea what the hell you’re taking about,” he says with a shrug. “Don’t let me stop you.” He leans over and pillows his head on Isaac’s lap as he gets comfortable. 

“Don’t let him fool you,” Destiny says, leaning over as though anything she says to Isaac two feet above Peter’s head could possibly be confidential. “Peter totally used to paint my nails when we were little.” 

“You’re kidding.” Isaac laughs and Peter makes a faux cranky noise as his pillow moves, and Isaac pets his hair in apology. “You seriously did manicures for Dee?”

“I have really steady hands,” he says, holding one out to illustrate. 

“And those nails,” Destiny adds, grabbing it before Peter can escape, holding his fingers spread as though Isaac hasn’t seen Peter’s fingernails before. “He used to let me paint them. Until middle school, right? Then you were too cool.” 

“Too interested in not getting beat up, you mean.” He turns his head to look up at Isaac with long-suffering puppy-dog eyes. “You see what I live with?” 

“Details.” She releases his hand. “Anyway, he only pretends to be a tough guy. It’s a sham.” 

“You’re a sham,” Peter replies, and Destiny hits him with a pillow. 

“Hey, friendly fire!” Isaac raises his arms to protect his own face as Peter rolls to protect his face in Isaac’s stomach. 

“See, look at this tough guy,” Destiny pokes Peter between the shoulderblades and he raises one hand to solemnly give her the finger. 

“How are you breathing?” Isaac asks, because Peter’s face really is pressed into his belly, his nose digging and breath hot through Isaac’s shirt. 

“Skills.” Peter shrugs, turns his head just enough to look up at Isaac. “Is it safe?” 

“Probably not,” Isaac says, and Peter rolls over anyway. Destiny tries to hit him again and Isaac blocks the incoming pillow. “Dresses,” he says, pointing at the TV. “You can beat on Peter any time.” 

“I like this boy,” she says to Peter. “Good job.” 

“I thought so,” he says, and pats Isaac’s knee. 

“ _Dresses_ ,” Isaac repeats, because there’s no good way to answer that. All the same, he runs his fingers through Peter’s hair, scratches playfully behind his ear until he stretches his neck with a pleased little grumble. It’s a wolf sound, one that settles pleasant and warm in Isaac’s chest. Peter’s head is a comfortable weight on his legs, neck and shoulders warm against his thigh. His hand slides to Peter’s shoulder and Peter reaches up, tangles their fingers. It strikes him, then, that this person lying relaxed and vulnerable on his lap is an alpha, is the same thing that Derek was, that Peter Hale was, that Deucalion is. He tries to imagine Derek being so casually trusting, can’t. Scott, maybe, although Scott still seems to be trying to figure out how much authority exactly it is that he wields within his pack. 

“Ooh,” Destiny startles him out of his thoughts, “I like this one.” Peter’s fingers have gone slack in Isaac’s, soft and curled.

“Nah.” Isaac waves his unoccupied hand. “She looked much better in the A-line, and the beading was so much classier.” 

“Into couture, are you, Mr. Lahey.” Destiny sounds terribly amused. 

Isaac shrugs. “If you’re going to spend a car on a dress, better be classy as hell.” 

“He’s got a point,” Peter murmurs. Isaac had started to wonder if he’d fallen asleep. “If you’re going to be an idiot, be the best idiot you can.”

“How profound.” Destiny rolls her eyes. 

“Yep.” 

Isaac chuckles, and Peter squeezes his fingers.


	14. Chapter 14

Peter’s about to unlock the door to Destiny’s shop when he hears Isaac make an odd sound behind him. 

“Um, Peter?”

“Yeah?” Peter turns to look at Isaac, and Isaac points across the street. There’s a girl sitting on the curb, just watching them. There’s nothing terribly extraordinary about her, dark eyes and wavy dark hair, but there’s something about her expression, like she _knows_ something. Peter’s head tilts, and as it does, the girl points at both of her eyes, and then across the street at them. Then she smiles. 

“Hello, Peter,” she says without raising her voice, like she _knows_ , and Isaac hears Peter stop breathing. 

“Shelley?” His voice cracks on the name, but the girl’s smile brightens. Peter’s bag hits the ground with a soft thud and Isaac doesn’t even have time to react before he’s sprinting across the street without the slightest heed for traffic, picking the girl up and spinning her around until she laughs. When he sets her down he puts his hands on her shoulders, brushes them off, smiles. “Isaac, c’mere,” he calls, so Isaac trots across the road. 

“Uh,” he says. “Hi.” 

“Shelley, this is Isaac. Isaac, this is Shelley Godfrey, from Hemlock Grove.” There’s something odd in Peter’s voice and when Isaac looks at him he’s afraid for a moment that Peter is actually going to cry. “Roman’s little sister. Who I thought was dead, but it turns out she’s as alive and pretty as ever.” 

“You underestimated me,” she says, smiling and patting his shoulder, and Peter gives an incredulous little laugh. 

“Or something. What are you even doing here? Wait, no, inside first.” Shelley smiles at Peter’s fluster. As they cross the street, Peter reaches for Isaac’s hand.

“Um, should I go home? This seems kinda…” He’s not sure how to finish the sentence. Personal? Weird? Not his business? 

“No, stay.” It’s phrased like a command, but the subtle strain in his tone is two inches short of pleading, and Isaac wonders why exactly it is that Peter is so shaken. He _had_ said he’d thought that she was dead, but there’s much more going on here than a joyful reunion. Peter picks up his bag and resumes unlocking the door. “My mom and cousin aren’t home yet.” 

“I wanted to talk to you, Peter,” Shelley says as he opens the door and gestures for her to go inside. 

Isaac settles on the couch once they’re inside, still uncertain why exactly he’s there. Peter goes into the kitchen and Shelley follows him. 

“Shelley…” Peter’s voice comes out soft, but not so soft that he’s trying to hide from Isaac. “How…?” 

“Ouroboros. Does it really matter?” Isaac can hear one of them wrap arms around the other, but the sniffle is definitely Peter. 

“No,” he murmurs, his voice muffled, “guess it really doesn’t. You’re just as pretty now.” That makes Shelley laugh, and a moment later they come sit down with three glasses of ice water. Peter sits beside Isaac, and Shelley takes the armchair. Isaac puts his hand on Peter’s leg and Shelley’s eyes follow it, and she makes a face that Isaac can’t quite interpret. 

“I came to ask you something,” she says after a moment. 

“You…” Peter shakes his head like he might have misheard. “Shelley, you came all this way to ask me something.” 

“It’s hardly the kind of inquiry one can make over email, even if one isn’t presumed dead.” She folds her hands on her knees and takes a breath, and Peter puts his hand on Isaac’s. “We all left him, Peter. Do you know what happened after?” 

Peter sighs. “That was never not going to happen, Shelley. It was as inevitable as sunrise.” 

Shelley is quiet for a moment, looking at her hands. “Perhaps.” She watches her fingers sitting still on her lap. “No, I know. Some things must be. But we still all left.” She raises her eyes to look at Peter. “And you won’t go ba--”

“I _can’t_ ,” he interrupts. “Not--” 

“So I will,” she continues, calm and implacable, “but I can’t help him like this. I need you to help me.” 

Beside Isaac, Peter goes still and stiff, and then shakes his head. “Shelley, no. That’s...we don’t. We _don’t_.”

“What else is there to do?” she asks, and Isaac looks between them with dawning horror.

“You want to take the bite?” 

“I need to take the bite. To help my brother.” She leans forward. “He killed Mother, you know. After. Dr. Pryce told me.” 

Peter looks stricken. “I didn’t.” 

“Okay,” Isaac says when the silence stretches, “someone needs to explain what the hell is going on here.” 

“Roman--Shelley’s brother, my friend--is an _upir_. A kind of vampire. He didn’t know it, when I was there, but he does now. Their mom is--was--one, and Shelley should’ve been, but…”

“I’m a complex case,” she says. 

“Shelley’s a really long story,” Peter agrees, “that I’ll tell you later. And not an _upir_. They’re not made, only born, and Roman wouldn’t ever turn her even if that was possible.” 

“Wait, so your girlfriend…”

Peter makes a sound, but it gets stuck, and Shelley steps in. “No, Letha wasn’t. We’re related on my father’s side, and it’s my mother’s blood that made Roman what he is.” She turns back to Peter. “And he’s not Mother, he’s still such a _child_ , and we left him all alone.” 

“He’d never hurt you. Never.” The barest tinge of defensiveness creeps into Peter’s voice.

“What makes you think I’m concerned about me?” Shelley’s smile is kind, but there’s something _old_ in her eyes, a cousin of the old thing that Isaac sometimes catches in Peter’s expression when he has no idea he’s being looked at. “Peter, please. Help me. Help _Roman_.” 

“I need to talk to Destiny and Lynda.” 

“Peter--”

“I _need_ to talk to Destiny and Lynda.” He almost snaps the words. “You don’t know what you’re asking, Shelley.” 

“But I know why I’m asking, and why I’m asking you.” 

For a moment, Peter’s fingers tighten so hard around Isaac’s hand that his nails press into Isaac’s palm, but then he realizes, murmurs a _sorry_ and tries to let go. Isaac doesn’t let him, and Peter deflates. “If I did it, it won’t be easy. You have to learn to control it, and once it’s done you can’t undo it.” He looks at her, steady and quiet. “We both know what happened in that church. Can you live like that, glowworm?” 

Shelley is quiet, watching Peter. Her hands make an odd movement, like she’s reaching for something on her lap that isn’t there. When they close around nothing she looks momentarily confused, then opens her mouth to speak. “How can I not?” 

Before Peter can even consider how to answer that, the bell rings downstairs, and a moment later Lynda comes up, groceries in hand. “Well hello. Sweetie,” she says, “who’s this?” 

“It’s Shelley, Lynda.” Lynda stares at Peter for a moment, and he shrugs, like _what the hell can you do?_

“Well I’ll be goddamned. Look at you.” Lynda squats down in front of the chair Shelley is sitting in. “I’ll be goddamned. What are you doing all the way out here?” 

“She wants the bite,” Peter says as Lynda stands. She turns slowly to look at him. “Roman turned and Olivia is dead.” Shelley winces, and then Peter mirrors her expression. “Sorry.” Lynda mutters a streak of what definitely sound like curses. 

“Um,” Isaac murmurs to Peter, “why didn’t Lynda recognize Shelley?” 

“She didn’t look like this when we saw her last.” Isaac looks confused. “Smell her. Tell me what you get.” 

Isaac hesitates, looking at Shelley with his mouth half opened and unsure how to even begin to ask to _smell_ a stranger. But Shelley doesn’t seem to find it as odd as he does, and extends a hand, as one would to a dog. That’s kind of weird too, but Isaac stands up and goes over and sniffs. Then he sniffs again, and once more to be sure, before he looks up at Shelley, brows wrinkled in confusion. 

“You’re…” 

“This is not my original body,” Shelley agrees, as though that’s not the freaking weirdest thing Isaac’s heard in a really long time. “But it’s a nice one, don’t you think?” Isaac’s mouth opens, shuts, and then opens again. 

“For now let’s go with ‘Godfreys are weird and so is everything associated with Godfreys’,” Peter says while Isaac is still trying to figure out how to respond. “When is Destiny getting home, Lynda?” 

“Right now,” Destiny says from the doorway, where she’s staring at Shelley. “What in the fresh hell…” 

“Shelley, Dee. Godfrey. Roman’s turned, she wants the bite.” Isaac’s fairly sure that Destiny’s cursing barely overlaps with Lynda’s, which is fairly impressive, as these things go. “Yeah. Okay, family meeting. Shelley, do you mind chilling here with the TV for awhile?” Peter stands up, and Isaac figures he’s staying on the couch until he realizes that Peter is still holding his hand.

“I’ll survive,” she says, looking a little wry. 

“Thanks, glowworm.” He brushes her hair back from her cheek, and Isaac can’t read his expression. 

Isaac wouldn’t have thought that four people could fit comfortably on the fire escape, but he finds himself surprised. Peter and Lynda immediately light up, Peter sticking two cigarettes into his mouth and handing the second off to Isaac without even asking. 

“What am I doing out here?” he asks, blowing smoke through his nose. 

“Peter brought you,” Destiny says with a shrug, when Peter doesn’t say anything. “Welcome to the family.” 

“Dee.” Peter’s voice is taut as wire. “What the fuck am I supposed to do?” 

“Explain it to Isaac.” Peter drags on his cigarette and rolls his head back, resistant, but Destiny isn’t budging, arms folded across her chest. “Right now, that’s what you do.” Isaac finds Peter’s hand, and Peter squeezes his fingers. It’s still a long moment before he says anything.

“Roman is an _upir_ , like I said. He didn’t know it, but he could still tell I was...something. And he was the first person outside of family that I really...clicked with, I guess. Shelley’s his little sister, and she used to be…” Peter pauses, takes a deep breath of smoke and lets it out as he speaks. “Shelley died when she was a baby, and this scientist that worked at the White Tower--Godfrey Biomedical--he brought her back.” He shakes his head. “That girl was the purest, sweetest, brightest soul I’ve ever seen, and almost nobody ever looked past her face.” He sighs. “Anyway, a little after we arrived in Hemlock Grove, people started dying. Girls. And it was a werewolf killing them, but it was the damnedest thing. I couldn’t get a scent. Couldn’t figure out who it was for the longest time. And then I did. This girl, she lived with her grandparents in a house nearish our lot, she figured out what I am. I wouldn’t bite her, of course, but one night over the summer I lost a claw out in the woods, and I guess she found it.” 

“She...turned herself?” Isaac’s brow furrows. 

“Yep. And went completely bugfuck. I don’t know why. Still.” He’s quiet a moment. “But in the end it wasn’t me who killed her. It was Shelley. And then the Sheriff shot her, and she ran away, and that was the last anybody heard of her until this afternoon. That was last November.” 

Isaac gives this all time to digest. “And you left in…”

“April.” 

“So Shelley disappeared in November, and then you left in April.” 

Peter nods. “And he must’ve turned after that. Around his birthday, maybe? Olivia was dramatic as shit.”

“Actresses.” Destiny rolls her eyes, but then she’s serious again. “ _Upir_ aren’t anything to fuck around with.”

“Shelley used to be strong. Physically, I mean. She was bigger than Roman, who made me look little. When she was happy to see someone she’d just pick them right up like a doll.” He smiles a little at the memory. “Now she’s not anymore, and Roman’s going to be a hell of a lot more dangerous.” Peter shakes his head, looks at Lynda. “I still don’t think he’d hurt her.” 

“Maybe not, sweetheart.” Lynda’s smile looks surprisingly sad. “But what about everyone else?” Peter runs a hand through his hair. 

“Okay,” Isaac says, and Peter tilts his head toward him. “So your friends need help, and you can give them that help. Why the hesitation?”

“Because no one has been bitten by a Rumancek in Peter’s whole life, honey.” Lynda fills in the space when Peter doesn’t. 

“The girl who turned herself, Christina, she was Shelley’s age. Fourteen. They were in the same class.” 

“Oh.” Isaac considers this. “You were an alpha before then.” 

“Yeah, and that was real fucking fun.” Peter stubs out his cigarette and lights another. He needs something to do with his hands. 

“You could go back,” Destiny points out.

“No, I can’t.” 

The words are a whipcrack, and Destiny opens her mouth to argue, then abruptly shuts it. Isaac glances at Peter, startles when he realizes that Peter’s eyes are glowing red. “Whoa, Peter, hey.” Peter looks at Isaac, takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. Isaac watches red fade to blue, and then Peter blinks and puts his cigarette to his lips. “So,” Isaac says, looking at Lynda, “is that bite thing a _rule_ , or a guideline?” 

“Peter is the alpha, sweetie. It’s whatever he wants it to be.” Isaac is suddenly really, really glad that he isn’t Peter, that there are rules for him to follow that must be obeyed, that aren’t secretly optional.

“We could ask Scott,” he says, but Peter shakes his head. 

“If she’s taking the bite then she’s going to be mine.” 

“Then sounds to me like you already know what you’re gonna do.” Isaac shrugs a little, stubs out his cigarette, mostly gone to ash, and takes Peter’s from between his fingers. Lynda says something to Peter in Romanian, and Isaac catches his name in there. 

“Yeah,” Peter says, and then he looks at Isaac. “You think it’s the right thing to do?” 

“I think you’re asking the wrong person about doing the right thing.” Isaac pauses, considers. “But it’s probably what Scott would do. Besides running back to save the day.” 

“Well,” Peter says, “fuck.” 

“About two weeks until the moon,” Destiny says. “Probably enough.” 

“God help me,” Peter murmurs. 

“He already did,” Destiny says. “He gave you us.” 

Peter rolls his eyes heavenward.

***

Isaac watches Shelley take the bite. Peter talks to her for a long time beforehand, explains things that Isaac didn’t find out until long after the fact. He’s sweet and gentle with her, smiles and teases, but Isaac can smell the anxiety and sadness. When they’ve finally run out of things to talk about, Peter shifts, sits and lets Shelley take in the physical appearance of a werewolf. Isaac realizes that he’s never seen Peter shifted in the light either. It looks natural on him in the same odd way it does on Derek but doesn’t quite manage to on Isaac or Scott, more an animalistic enhancement than a brutish distortion.

“Ready?” Peter murmurs, and Shelley nods, rolling up her sleeve. Isaac remembers this moment, but he doesn’t remember Derek being near so careful as Peter is, how his teeth sink almost gently into her skin. It almost doesn’t look painful until she makes a little noise and Isaac sees red around Peter’s teeth, welling up when he opens his jaw and lets her go. 

Destiny is there a moment later with gauze, wrapping the wound without cleaning it. Peter gets up and goes to brush his teeth. He finds Isaac waiting outside the bathroom when he’s finished. 

“Hey,” Isaac says, thumbs hooked into the pockets of his jeans.

“Hey,” Peter says, and then slowly, slowly leans forward until his forehead rests against Isaac’s shoulder. For a moment Isaac just stands there, not knowing what to do. Then he tilts his head, opens his mouth and sets his teeth gently against Peter’s neck. Peter shudders and then relaxes, and Isaac presses a kiss into the middle of the shallow oval left by his teeth. “Stay?” 

“It’s a school night,” Isaac points out. Peter shrugs. “...I’ll go home and get some clothes. I’m not walk-of-shaming the whole school day.” 

“Guess it’d be pretty unsubtle if you went to school in my clothes.” 

Isaac flicks Peter’s ear. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in your clothes in public, Rumancek.”

“So, so vain.” Peter shakes his head, rolling it from side to side on Isaac’s shoulder. 

“Or I could just go home.” 

“I take it back,” Peter says, wrapping his arms around Isaac’s waist. “Don’t want you to stay. Go away.” 

“Going, going.” Isaac drapes his arms over Peter’s shoulders. “You know, we still have a bunch of homework. And an English test tomorrow.” 

“Ah, fuck me,” Peter says.

“Maybe later.” Isaac laughs when Peter nips his neck. “You okay?” 

“Yeah.” It’s a lie, but Peter’s not really pretending it isn’t. “Sometimes all the options are shit, and you just pick the one that might end up least shitty.” 

“Trust me,” Isaac says, “I know all about that one.”

“Yep,” Peter agrees, and they’re both quiet for a long time.

** 

The next morning, Shelley is feeling ill, and Peter only makes it to school by dint of Isaac dragging him out and Lynda promising that she is, in fact, fully capable of dealing with a sick child. Peter isn’t so stupid as to argue that, so he goes. 

“We should tell the others,” Isaac says, and Peter’s quiet for a moment, like he wants to argue. 

“Yeah,” he says. “She’ll be here a couple moons before she can do it on her own.” 

“A couple?” Isaac looks surprised. 

“Yeah, a couple. When she goes back, she’ll be on her own, thousands of miles from her alpha.” He shrugs. “I have to be really fucking sure, before I let her leave.” 

“Oh.” They make it a block before Isaac says anything more. He hadn’t really thought about that part, that Peter was adding to his pack only to send her away, that Shelley had come all this way to an alpha that she would probably never be physically close to. “That really sucks.”

“It’s what she wants.” And it’s the only way left for Peter to even halfway say some things to Roman in the way Peter has always said things to Roman: silently, and with the sort of love that he doesn’t understand because it is neither heroic nor selfless. It’s not the kind of love they teach in fairy tales, the love of a creature that has too much to lose to just give in. Shelley knows. The secret truth of Godfreys is that of all of them, it was only Shelley who had never made Peter sad. Until now, anyway, and he’s willing to forgive her that. 

Isaac shrugs, because there’s too much hanging between Shelley and Peter that he can’t see. “You gonna tell them at lunch?” he asks as they push through the doors to Beacon Hills High. 

“Guess so. Might as well get everybody at once.” Isaac watches as Peter shakes his shoulders and rolls his neck, and all the worry and fear and sadness disappear beneath an exterior of calm indifference. He rocks up onto the balls of his feet to kiss the corner of Isaac’s mouth. “I’ll see you then.” _Sit with Scott_ is what he means, since Isaac didn’t go home the night previous. It’s good that Peter understands these things, that he’s nearly as aware as Isaac is of the occasional delicacy of the balancing act he’s performing. 

As per usual, Peter is the last one to sit down at lunch, and he takes his customary half-seat at the end of the bench, hip pressed firmly to Isaac’s hip. Scott even gives him a bit of a wave.

“Hey, Peter. Isaac said that you have company?” He follows the question with a huge bite of hamburger. 

“Yeah, something like that. My friend’s little sister landed on our doorstep yesterday afternoon. Turns out she’ll be staying for awhile.”

Lydia turns to look at him. “Why?”

“It’s kind of a complicated story. Shelley’s brother, Roman, he’s--” 

“Holy shit.” The entire table turns as one to stare at Scott, who is too busy staring at his phone to notice. 

“Well?” Stiles says after a long moment, shoving at Scott’s shoulder. 

“It’s…” Scott looks at the screen as though furrowing his eyebrows will make whatever is on it make more sense. “It’s Derek. He’s back.”


End file.
